The Revolution Shall Be Televised
He stood on the bustling city pavement, amidst a foul flow of busy passers-by; all wrapped up in their turgid insignificant commercial little lives. He was going to shake their worlds, shatter their very foundations. His lips slowly curved into a subtle malevolent smirk as he stared up at the towering glass skyscraper across the street; a huge gleaming symbol of everything these nobodies held dear in their lives, reflecting the endless blue skies of their perceived possibilities. He would smash it.
It unfolded before his mind’s eye, as it had many times before. The explosion would billow outwards as a giant black and red fiery cloud, rising up through the structure as the secondary explosives were triggered. The repugnant rats below would scramble and swarm to escape the beautiful shower of shimmering shards that would rain down upon them, cutting and shredding their grey skin. The old, weak and crippled would be forgotten and trampled underfoot. Cars would crash as their drivers stared in amazement and fear at their bright blue sky fragmenting and falling down around them.
The pandemonium would be deafening; the screaming of the frightened, the screeching of the injured, the crying of the dying (why should they cry? He would be relieving them of their disgusting banality!). The blaring of the car horns, as their drivers lay dead and sprawled over their steering wheels, bleeding over dashboards and seats. The wail of the siren as the agents of authority rushed through the mayhem to save all the drones they could.
It was then that the foundations would give way and the tower would collapse with an earth shattering rumble, drowning the beautiful bedlam below in a suffocating blanket of dust, ash and rubble. Those not shredded by the rain of glass would be bludgeoned by the debris of concrete and steel, or choked by the filth. For those still alive, it would be as night, the fog of wreckage smothering their sun and blue sky.
At this time the vultures would descend, the masters of manipulation, the monstrosity of the media. How he detested those vermin - the strongest arm of those that controlled. Using, shaping and misusing the misery of people for the consumption of the mindless masses, keeping them subdued and docile to serve the needs of the greater few. They twisted the minds of these peons into filling their lives with the wares the Powers sold, handing over their hard earned capital to lose their soul. But today, yes today, they would serve his purpose, for they would carry the blast around the world, into the houses and minds of every slave, every serf, and every dutiful downtrodden follower of the almighty green. They would be shaken, to see the symbol of their material dreams crumble before their glazed eyes, their wide-open sky horrifyingly scarred by a cloud of smoke and destruction. Their stomachs would turn at the sight of their fellow zombies, blood-spattered and skin-torn by the collapse of their collective dreams. And they would weep ten times over for every life lost.
They would be suddenly lost, disillusioned and disenchanted in their existence. With their beacon of materialism and wealth in a smouldering heap, burying their brothers and sisters and children, their eyes would clear. They would perceive the hypocrisy, the lies, the propaganda, the Big Brother and Ministry of Truth, the convoluted structures and twisting hallways of bureaucracy hiding the true nature of all power. They would see through their so-called ‘leaders’ for the monkey-puppets they are, and follow their strings back to the puppet masters and know the truth of the world. They would realise the oppression of their "middle-class" existence. And they would be angry.
They would throw off the shackles of their proledom, rise up against their oppression and manipulation for the sake of the high living of the blue blood. They would gather in their hundreds of thousands to scream their discontent and dissatisfaction so loud as to rattle the corridors of Real Power in the remaining dream-towers of glass and steel. They would tear down the gleaming grinning faces of advertising; reject the ideals they had once placed so much faith in. The Powers, so smug in their security would become scared, as the rioting rabble drew closer, ripping up the world around them to reveal the hidden truths. There would be nowhere left to hide; they would be hunted like vermin and dragged through the streets they had paved with fool’s gold. The people would burn and behead these fallen gods in the squares they had built in reverence of them and pile high the charred black bodies.
The new morning would rise brighter and better than ever before and every lungful of air would taste of relief and release. The sun would ascend into a new sky, full of new dreams and new futures. The world would be different. The world would be superior. They would have split apart civilization in the hopes of something better and found the pearl of truth. The cities would empty as the citizens returned to the land, casting aside the supposed luxuries of their suburbanality and embracing a simpler life; a life without the complexities of what car to buy and which channel to watch. No longer would people pass each other in the street and not acknowledge one-another’s existence. No longer would they be wrapped up in their own petty greed-driven lives. No longer would they drive to their nine-to-five jobs, each alone in their own moving metal prison. They would hunt deer together across the planes. They would farm the land and reap the rewards; making clothes from the wool of sheep and the hides of cattle. They would tear down the dream-towers piece by piece to build their own dreams. They would be happy. They would be free. They -
He felt a strong hand on his shoulder and turned to see the golden badge of authority, the ruling star, pinned to the chest of a man standing before him. “You ok sir?” asked the star. He shook off the hand and merged with the crowd, feeling the eyes of authority, burning into his back as he walked away. They were scared of him. They always had been, always would be. They were everywhere. On every corner in every town; in every house on every street. In the sky and below his feet. But someday that would change; he would be free and they would watch him no more. He would no longer just be Timothy. Someday he would move out of his mother’s basement and change the world.
Someday.
It unfolded before his mind’s eye, as it had many times before. The explosion would billow outwards as a giant black and red fiery cloud, rising up through the structure as the secondary explosives were triggered. The repugnant rats below would scramble and swarm to escape the beautiful shower of shimmering shards that would rain down upon them, cutting and shredding their grey skin. The old, weak and crippled would be forgotten and trampled underfoot. Cars would crash as their drivers stared in amazement and fear at their bright blue sky fragmenting and falling down around them.
The pandemonium would be deafening; the screaming of the frightened, the screeching of the injured, the crying of the dying (why should they cry? He would be relieving them of their disgusting banality!). The blaring of the car horns, as their drivers lay dead and sprawled over their steering wheels, bleeding over dashboards and seats. The wail of the siren as the agents of authority rushed through the mayhem to save all the drones they could.
It was then that the foundations would give way and the tower would collapse with an earth shattering rumble, drowning the beautiful bedlam below in a suffocating blanket of dust, ash and rubble. Those not shredded by the rain of glass would be bludgeoned by the debris of concrete and steel, or choked by the filth. For those still alive, it would be as night, the fog of wreckage smothering their sun and blue sky.
At this time the vultures would descend, the masters of manipulation, the monstrosity of the media. How he detested those vermin - the strongest arm of those that controlled. Using, shaping and misusing the misery of people for the consumption of the mindless masses, keeping them subdued and docile to serve the needs of the greater few. They twisted the minds of these peons into filling their lives with the wares the Powers sold, handing over their hard earned capital to lose their soul. But today, yes today, they would serve his purpose, for they would carry the blast around the world, into the houses and minds of every slave, every serf, and every dutiful downtrodden follower of the almighty green. They would be shaken, to see the symbol of their material dreams crumble before their glazed eyes, their wide-open sky horrifyingly scarred by a cloud of smoke and destruction. Their stomachs would turn at the sight of their fellow zombies, blood-spattered and skin-torn by the collapse of their collective dreams. And they would weep ten times over for every life lost.
They would be suddenly lost, disillusioned and disenchanted in their existence. With their beacon of materialism and wealth in a smouldering heap, burying their brothers and sisters and children, their eyes would clear. They would perceive the hypocrisy, the lies, the propaganda, the Big Brother and Ministry of Truth, the convoluted structures and twisting hallways of bureaucracy hiding the true nature of all power. They would see through their so-called ‘leaders’ for the monkey-puppets they are, and follow their strings back to the puppet masters and know the truth of the world. They would realise the oppression of their "middle-class" existence. And they would be angry.
They would throw off the shackles of their proledom, rise up against their oppression and manipulation for the sake of the high living of the blue blood. They would gather in their hundreds of thousands to scream their discontent and dissatisfaction so loud as to rattle the corridors of Real Power in the remaining dream-towers of glass and steel. They would tear down the gleaming grinning faces of advertising; reject the ideals they had once placed so much faith in. The Powers, so smug in their security would become scared, as the rioting rabble drew closer, ripping up the world around them to reveal the hidden truths. There would be nowhere left to hide; they would be hunted like vermin and dragged through the streets they had paved with fool’s gold. The people would burn and behead these fallen gods in the squares they had built in reverence of them and pile high the charred black bodies.
The new morning would rise brighter and better than ever before and every lungful of air would taste of relief and release. The sun would ascend into a new sky, full of new dreams and new futures. The world would be different. The world would be superior. They would have split apart civilization in the hopes of something better and found the pearl of truth. The cities would empty as the citizens returned to the land, casting aside the supposed luxuries of their suburbanality and embracing a simpler life; a life without the complexities of what car to buy and which channel to watch. No longer would people pass each other in the street and not acknowledge one-another’s existence. No longer would they be wrapped up in their own petty greed-driven lives. No longer would they drive to their nine-to-five jobs, each alone in their own moving metal prison. They would hunt deer together across the planes. They would farm the land and reap the rewards; making clothes from the wool of sheep and the hides of cattle. They would tear down the dream-towers piece by piece to build their own dreams. They would be happy. They would be free. They -
He felt a strong hand on his shoulder and turned to see the golden badge of authority, the ruling star, pinned to the chest of a man standing before him. “You ok sir?” asked the star. He shook off the hand and merged with the crowd, feeling the eyes of authority, burning into his back as he walked away. They were scared of him. They always had been, always would be. They were everywhere. On every corner in every town; in every house on every street. In the sky and below his feet. But someday that would change; he would be free and they would watch him no more. He would no longer just be Timothy. Someday he would move out of his mother’s basement and change the world.
Someday.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home