The moment when you suddenly realise that you actually know more about an issue / topic / 'thing' than the people - the pundits - paid to write about it in the popular media. And, then, that moment (or ten) of neural roil that follows when you dismiss it, deciding that any omissions or lack of depth are due to the writer's agenda, or that of the paper / site / newsfeed, that they are intentional and designed to service a specific tone or a slant aimed at the target demographic, but then-- then! - it folds in with all the other instances that you've similarly dismissed and the penny finally drops:
They don't actually know what they're on about. They're just people who are fairly good at stringing words together within a ball-park context and an agreed time-frame. Well, d'oh!
And then, the aftertaste of that moment when your brain says to you: "So, what are you going to do about this?" - when it dares you to act beyond posting more pointless links on Twitter or Tumblr, more hollow signpost HTML posturing. And then the moment - the long plateau of rolling moments that follow and then remain still, embedded in stasis.
There are many Things For Which There Are No Words (Yet); and a lot of them seem to exist in the Realm of the Revalatory, where pattern-recognition neurons suddenly open fire and create a crossknot of Eureka'dness. A act that prefigures the creation / birth-utterance of a brand new word. An new emotive- or object-tag.
I'm writing this down for my own benefit, in the hope that it hops across into my own logic and language centres and eventually gets acted upon.