Orwellian

When doublespeak becomes communication

When what was writ’s unwritten, lies are truth

When options few are really just the same ones

And those who should do better are uncouth

When people are the pawns and power the endgame

And news reported dwells on virtual facts

When 101’s a room we all must live in

And noble’s executed in dark arts

When Napoleon takes the credit for our efforts

And homage is considered his just due

When one would rise among us to refute this

The porcine clique, combined, know what to do

Rewrite our history and offer soundbites

Report what must be said in ways it must

The trough must not be shattered nor the dark lit

The face should honour boot and in it trust

When zombies tear at brains and then reshape them

When two and two is five in bankers’ math

When economic power’s the only saviour

And war is profit, gamblers scoff and laugh

When George’s past is now our glowing present

And Big Brother’s just a guy like all the rest

We’re living in a novel ’till we notice

That few among them work for what is best

When thirteen’s on the clock and we accept that

And still applaud the hand that strikes false hour

When destruction of the word is deemed a good thing

Gravity and science exist no more

When happiness is valued more than freedom

But only ours, not theirs, we’ve lost the plot

When isolation’s cult breeds more of ignorance

We have a world that’s free from reason; doublethought

When history reflects, some time, in the future

On what was what, and what was not, let’s pray

Our children can forgive us our trespasses

For the legacy of Orwell on that day

Advertisements

Room 101

Just finished watching Room 101 on telly. I opted for Auld Fartdom.

As far as I’m aware, the origins of Room 101 are from George Orwell’s ‘1984’ where any occupant’s greatest fear was known and used against them to control any perceived rebellious streak.

The TV version, of course, doesn’t focus on fears but on aversions. Tonight a panel of three celebrities got to air their pet-hates which included noisy eaters, women whose toes hang over the end of open-toed shoes, travellers who recline their seats back into your space and kissers with overactive salivary glands. First world problems, I know.

But it got me to wondering about what things turn my stomach or bug me.

And I’m curious about yours.

Straight off, I’ll say one thing I cannot stomach is being in close proximity to someone brushing their teeth. Even my own kids. I’ve done it, of course, but cringed the whole time and designated that a daddy task whenever I could.

I won’t go into the fine details but imagine a scenario where I was forced to witness this enmasse. Last year, a class, new initiative, children all brush their teeth together in class after lunch. I was almost ill being in the same room as that amount of noisy brushing and frothy whitening around the lips. The thought of them all spitting into the sink had me reeling. But, no fears, they just swallowed. That induced a fit of heaving. It took every bit of self-control to remain in the same room as them and the teacher as he counted off two minutes of brushing. No one, as far as I’m concerned, should be compelled to be in the same room as anyone brushing their teeth.

So, what are your aversions? What makes you gag or want to close off the senses?  Or, in the spirit of the original, what really scares you?

((According to my 13 year old, people who turn their eyelids inside out, aubergines (but there’s a reason for that one) and clowns. With her on the clowns and the eyes. I’m responsible for the aubergines.))

Not They

Who are these goons?

These lepers?

Apart and yet controlling.

Ignorant of the common man,

But determined to know

Every secret thought

And action.

Who are these jerks?

Watching my movements,

Listening to my words,

Reading my mail.

Are they representative?

Did we vote for this?

Are all the policies

Pronounced

Prior to election

A blind?

The motives deeper

And more devious?

Who are these bastards?

My mind is my own.

My soul belongs to god.

My words to whom I speak them.

Who are these morons?

Thinking we will accept

Anything

And everything,

Like the

Roman populace,

Grateful

For handouts

And an arena

Where self-proclaimed

gods, decide thumbs up

Or down.

No Caesars here.

Who are these clowns ?

Thinking they are above

And beyond

The acceptable,

The righteous,

The moral.

Who are they?

Is this what we asked for?

Controlled

And controlling.

We are the people.

Not they.