Big Brother
Big brother is here I know it is clear, subtle and fast. Your temperature is taken, a pen for animals awaits you all it takes is track and then trace. tap, tap, tap, upon your door. A person, a clipboard, your post code don’t go to the back door they have friends but they come in twos with chains.
They will take you from your home leave your cat it will die. You will become lost, swallowed up in blue gowns and masks. Forgotten where I am, who’s sticking the tubes in. I have a larger mask, there is a film crew here I have a pixilated face my relatives won’t see. I’m beaten by degrees of many opinions I here voices in my head, he’s not going home. I wake up screaming for now my terror in a dream but wait as I emerge sweating there is a knock upon the door too profound to ignore.
For the first time the usual battleground will exist all toil and word terror vanished at this point. I can put one foot in front of the other and walk on two feet. I will not look back there will be no peace till the last breath when cognition exists ,. Above all else silence will reign supreme the room will be still if not a little empty, free from the watchful eyes of Big Brother for I am no longer Winston Smith.
The Whistle
What’s that sound I hear you say, I replied that’s the wind going somewhere to do what I know not. A change for someone I say . I cannot be there when it happens, I say when it stops, there is stillness I say and then there is this The Whistle, the signal of change a piercing shrill of a whistle. Time being called, no more complicated than that and knowing I am left to tell the tale. I forgot how I managed to tell you this. For I Am The Whistle a throttle fluted tower of black metal. One thousand feet high an aperture within and a sound that stops. All dead I the nothing will call again.
Disunity
Individualism has caused disunity the meretricious nature of university’s that have become an elite of no challenge, the common man becomes more common. All is seen before our eyes, but is ignored. Common sense has left us, the body politic a a saviour of no great description a prophet is ignored laughter is loud, in a world that crashes and burns with increasing fires accelerated by world motion. The sun is now an open fire not allowing for descent from outer life.
Political media, evil devils play you like a violin will we believe the class type A, B, C, D, all in line the same gruelling challenges. The rich become rich and the poor become poorer to a rancid pool stirring by a current political ministers heavy paddle, in a sinking boat shall the meek inherit the earth. No they have already left.
Monk Head
Monk head that’s where I am at inward in my mental cells aggressive insular women follow suite. Superfast broadband the government beak knew what they were doing command centre were ready to move on you the cross wires, they had started street to street. So many if only you could see them your mind would be confused. We are already damaged of that I am sure meanwhile Monk Head sits in his shed with his pigeons tying messages upon their delicate legs on command upon wings and internal radar, they will travel the last of the free. So prey the wind is good to them. This is Monk head’s last chance for freedom pray don’t shoot the messenger pray.