Where have I been?
What date is it now?
I can't seem to remember... All that is left . . .YOU ARE THE MACHINE. . .is this humming in my head.
hmm hmmm hm hm hmm hm hmmm
hm hmmm hmm hm hm hm hmmm
hmm hm hmm hm hm hmmhm hmm
hm hm hm hm hmm hm hmhm
I have no idea what it is or what it means. And I know that I probably sound crazy but my eyes feel like they don't . . .DON'T QUESTION. . . be long in my head. They feel too big for their sockets and when I try to touch them my hand refuses to obey.
I don't know what was done to me or where I was when it was done. I'm not sure what the state of the city is . . .OBEY. . . in, I'm sure nothing much has changed since I last wrote. I will update more later once I get my bearings . . . kzzzztYzzzOUth zzzzthTHEbzzzft MACHIbbft. . . again. . .
Sunday, July 13
Sunday, April 20
Honour
April 20th
I think I've figured it out, I think I know how to get word out about the resistance, about the movement, about the atrocities, that our so called government is committing. I vaguely remembered an old lullaby that my parents used to sing to me, I'm not sure of the origin and that doesn't matter any more, but the lines, the meaning all seem to fit as though they knew I was born to lead the uprising.
Shall I think of honour as lies?
Or lament it's aged slow demise?
Shall I stand as a total stranger
On this day in this stone chamber?
I know there's more to it but I all hear when I try to remember is a humming sound. Maybe it will come to me one day. But we have decided that words from these lines will signal members of the resistance to each other. A keyword from the lyrics will be said by one member, another in response and then they shall know they are in safe company.
So now my issue it how to strengthen our numbers, how to open the eyes of the public to the strength they have inside of them. For now I think I shall ponder this and watch the filthy snow fall on the city.
I think I've figured it out, I think I know how to get word out about the resistance, about the movement, about the atrocities, that our so called government is committing. I vaguely remembered an old lullaby that my parents used to sing to me, I'm not sure of the origin and that doesn't matter any more, but the lines, the meaning all seem to fit as though they knew I was born to lead the uprising.
Shall I think of honour as lies?
Or lament it's aged slow demise?
Shall I stand as a total stranger
On this day in this stone chamber?
I know there's more to it but I all hear when I try to remember is a humming sound. Maybe it will come to me one day. But we have decided that words from these lines will signal members of the resistance to each other. A keyword from the lyrics will be said by one member, another in response and then they shall know they are in safe company.
So now my issue it how to strengthen our numbers, how to open the eyes of the public to the strength they have inside of them. For now I think I shall ponder this and watch the filthy snow fall on the city.
Wednesday, April 16
The Maelstrom
April 16th 2053
So I gave in and went, the faces had changed, names were missing, and some seemed surprised that I showed up at all. The idea of the resistance has always been hauntingly in the back of my mind. I just think the Preacher went about it the wrong way. But now I may be part of this if I want to be or not. Its something I feel strongly about and seeing the number of people who hold the same vision of rights and freedoms as I do seems to have motivated me. Some were even calling me to take the Preacher's place.
I think I will it's time that I stopped sitting around stagnant and did something. Time to show these pigs on their high pedestals that they can be brought down and broken just like anyone else. The problem is how? How do I gather and motivate the masses of the crushed and broken into a organized functioning force that the government cannot silence or deny. There's no way of getting the message out on the streets with out being killed on the spot, approaching a random person with our message is out of the question, what if they support the government, what if they turn us in, hell what if they turn out to be some undercover lapdog? How did the Preacher do it?
I'll have to think on this for a while but I believe a maelstrom of change is on the horizon. . .
So I gave in and went, the faces had changed, names were missing, and some seemed surprised that I showed up at all. The idea of the resistance has always been hauntingly in the back of my mind. I just think the Preacher went about it the wrong way. But now I may be part of this if I want to be or not. Its something I feel strongly about and seeing the number of people who hold the same vision of rights and freedoms as I do seems to have motivated me. Some were even calling me to take the Preacher's place.
I think I will it's time that I stopped sitting around stagnant and did something. Time to show these pigs on their high pedestals that they can be brought down and broken just like anyone else. The problem is how? How do I gather and motivate the masses of the crushed and broken into a organized functioning force that the government cannot silence or deny. There's no way of getting the message out on the streets with out being killed on the spot, approaching a random person with our message is out of the question, what if they support the government, what if they turn us in, hell what if they turn out to be some undercover lapdog? How did the Preacher do it?
I'll have to think on this for a while but I believe a maelstrom of change is on the horizon. . .
Wednesday, April 9
Calming Rusted Playground
April 9th, 2053
I took a walk today among the atomic autumn trees. I found this old path back to a playground. No doubt at one point it was full of the cheerful screams and laughter of children, now only rust resides there.
It did me good to get away from the city, away from the air-raid sirens and the weeping of the buildings. Back to what this country once was, peaceful and serene. It made me feel human and almost alive again. I swung on the creaking swings, nothing too ambitious, just back and forth, thinking of absolutely nothing. The Preacher's death seems to have hit me harder that I thought. I've felt disconnected since hearing the news, the walk and the forest helped.
I think I'll go and see what is said when they send the Preacher off. Maybe I'll even say a few words, we were close, once. Maybe I'll even get involved in the whole resistance movement, god knows we could use some changes around here...
I took a walk today among the atomic autumn trees. I found this old path back to a playground. No doubt at one point it was full of the cheerful screams and laughter of children, now only rust resides there.
It did me good to get away from the city, away from the air-raid sirens and the weeping of the buildings. Back to what this country once was, peaceful and serene. It made me feel human and almost alive again. I swung on the creaking swings, nothing too ambitious, just back and forth, thinking of absolutely nothing. The Preacher's death seems to have hit me harder that I thought. I've felt disconnected since hearing the news, the walk and the forest helped.
I think I'll go and see what is said when they send the Preacher off. Maybe I'll even say a few words, we were close, once. Maybe I'll even get involved in the whole resistance movement, god knows we could use some changes around here...
Tuesday, April 8
Death of a Preacher
April 8th, 2053
Someone came by last night, they told me The Preacher was dying. They said he was just giving up and passing on. He'd been the one that had planted the notion of resistance, that everything we were told and conditioned to believe was not fact. The word was that he wanted me to come by for the funeral. I'm not sure that I want to. The Preacher and I haven't spoken in a long while, the problem with teaching people to think for themselves is that they sometimes question what the teacher is telling them.
He talked of resistance and uprising. Some think The Preacher had his hand in a role in the events that got our country to the dark state that it has been reduced to. Know one really knows what or who he was before all of this. He just seemed to wander into the city and start ranting to anyone who would listen. Seems that he was just charismatic enough to gather a bit of a following and move his sermons out of the government's eye and into the underground.
He always talked of loving each other and how we should respect human life, and in the same breath would turn and spout bile of bombings and uprising. This is the reason I stopped going, stopped talking to him. The hypocrisy of his passion moved me away and shut me out. Seems that there are those who followed him blindly, even claiming responsibility for things he had done just to protect him. All in all though it seems after all this time the only thing that he couldn't charm into doing something for him was death.
Still don't know if I really want to go or not.
Maybe.
Someone came by last night, they told me The Preacher was dying. They said he was just giving up and passing on. He'd been the one that had planted the notion of resistance, that everything we were told and conditioned to believe was not fact. The word was that he wanted me to come by for the funeral. I'm not sure that I want to. The Preacher and I haven't spoken in a long while, the problem with teaching people to think for themselves is that they sometimes question what the teacher is telling them.
He talked of resistance and uprising. Some think The Preacher had his hand in a role in the events that got our country to the dark state that it has been reduced to. Know one really knows what or who he was before all of this. He just seemed to wander into the city and start ranting to anyone who would listen. Seems that he was just charismatic enough to gather a bit of a following and move his sermons out of the government's eye and into the underground.
He always talked of loving each other and how we should respect human life, and in the same breath would turn and spout bile of bombings and uprising. This is the reason I stopped going, stopped talking to him. The hypocrisy of his passion moved me away and shut me out. Seems that there are those who followed him blindly, even claiming responsibility for things he had done just to protect him. All in all though it seems after all this time the only thing that he couldn't charm into doing something for him was death.
Still don't know if I really want to go or not.
Maybe.
Monday, April 7
Praise The Fallen
April 7th 2053
I was waiting in line for rations today, I saw some people there that I hadn't seen since the last... well I hadn't seen them in quite sometime. We all held each other, became human again for a moment, we were outside of the shell that it seems that everyone still alive has become to handle what we've been through, the explosions, the assassination, and now the police state.
We stood together, relieved and solemn, our numbers were fewer. They seem to be every time we happen to see each other. We had all heard the news of one of the others disappearing in the night, or shot by some itchy trigger fingered patrol. But the reality that we would never see them again never really sets in until a group of us happen to get together. We never really know when that will be but chance seems to smile on us from time to time and we catch up.
I walked home alone on the dusty streets, thinking of the people I once knew, of the times we shared together before it all went to shit. Burnt out cars and broken shops all line the way home. I guess its somewhat comforting to know that these things won't change, they seem to be the only constants. People are no longer constant. They disappear, or as the government would like us to say, "get relocated" in the middle of the night, or die of the plagues and diseases that have been running rampant. Some of them were just in the wrong place or with the wrong people.
Getting home I sat down listening to the sounds of the building, the absence of children screaming or crying gets eerie after a while. You get annoyed by it when its around but you never realize how alien your own apartment can be when the air is still and there are no shouts of laughter from your neighbor's kids. Thy pull them away from their mothers and fathers at the age of six months, seems they've been hauling them off to some government regulated boarding school or something. Brainwashing if you ask me. It does horrid things to the parents, I've witnessed more than one set of parents' corpses being burned after their child has been sent off to "boarding school".
They always tell us that its for our protection, that its for the benefit of the country and the world. Bullshit.
I was waiting in line for rations today, I saw some people there that I hadn't seen since the last... well I hadn't seen them in quite sometime. We all held each other, became human again for a moment, we were outside of the shell that it seems that everyone still alive has become to handle what we've been through, the explosions, the assassination, and now the police state.
We stood together, relieved and solemn, our numbers were fewer. They seem to be every time we happen to see each other. We had all heard the news of one of the others disappearing in the night, or shot by some itchy trigger fingered patrol. But the reality that we would never see them again never really sets in until a group of us happen to get together. We never really know when that will be but chance seems to smile on us from time to time and we catch up.
I walked home alone on the dusty streets, thinking of the people I once knew, of the times we shared together before it all went to shit. Burnt out cars and broken shops all line the way home. I guess its somewhat comforting to know that these things won't change, they seem to be the only constants. People are no longer constant. They disappear, or as the government would like us to say, "get relocated" in the middle of the night, or die of the plagues and diseases that have been running rampant. Some of them were just in the wrong place or with the wrong people.
Getting home I sat down listening to the sounds of the building, the absence of children screaming or crying gets eerie after a while. You get annoyed by it when its around but you never realize how alien your own apartment can be when the air is still and there are no shouts of laughter from your neighbor's kids. Thy pull them away from their mothers and fathers at the age of six months, seems they've been hauling them off to some government regulated boarding school or something. Brainwashing if you ask me. It does horrid things to the parents, I've witnessed more than one set of parents' corpses being burned after their child has been sent off to "boarding school".
They always tell us that its for our protection, that its for the benefit of the country and the world. Bullshit.
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