A face to love and loath

— 3 minute read —
thought police flying through airstrip one
A Nineteen Eighty-Four interior monologue which the Government forced me to write.

I know you, Winston, better than even yourself. I am here only for you. To make tranquil a deluded mind. Look at where a free thought gets you, where it always will get you: enslaved by it—at its whim. Excessive thought is a disease, spread by the skittish dirty rodent we call man. It is only by watching ourselves without knowing that we’re looking can we really catch ourselves, exterminate the problem and achieve true freedom. We must suspect all thought, except the thought that all thoughts are to be suspected. You are too acutely aware of what you are doing, and have fallen victim to awareness’s symptoms. Do not for a minute think you are unique: your thoughts are not your own, they are mine; your rebellion is not your own, it too, is mine. You are broken, a flaw, a stain. Only broken men put hope in the future. The future, Winston, does not exist beyond thought. The past does not exist apart from the present. Now is all there is—and it is eternal—the Party owns the Now, and so will remain for eternity. Thought is the veil that conceals this reality, be rid of it.

You of all people must realise there can be no sense of oneness without separateness, communion without rebellion. the Party can only exist in the many; what I see before me is the Party just as what I see behind me is the Party. You, Winston, are the Party—even if you think you are not, you still are—you are now, you will always be, you have always been. Is that not what scares you the most: that you too feel jilted, abandoned; that you might want power and complete control… We are far closer than you think. All which separates us is a screen, a painting and faith. Rebels love to imagine themselves as saviours overcoming oppressive rule, but rebellion always occurs so one group can obtain power over another: power is never given, only taken. The horror then, is not that bad people do bad things. It is that good people do horrible things thinking they are doing something great. A beloved King is just a man who excels in inflicting injury on others until they are terrorised into loving him.

We all rebel in our own ways. I rebel against the old, as you rebel against the new; we both fight for what we believe in, at least I chose the right side. What you may not see, is that rebellion fuels Big Brother, without people like you there would be no experience of power—it is an inseparable aspect of the party, just as the experience of love is inseparable from hate. Power in its simplest form is the ability to do—to oneself, to another, for good or bad—but the most potent power is the power to crush someone slowly and completely, as a boot may be pressed onto a bug. Yet, crushing conformists would only serve to incite real rebellion, so instead, by crushing the heretic we evoke conformity. the Party is a stronghold that builds itself, watches itself, grows of itself: all weaknesses are being bred out as it continually evolves. Because of this, there are infinite redundancies, the Party can never be overcome. Ah, Winston, It seems to me that your rebellion has been all retch and no vomit, it never got there, pathetic really.

I have no reason to kill you, Winston, the free thinker and conforming thinker are as helpless against control as a salmon in polluted water. You are not a dead man, two plus two does not make four, there is no no secret doctrine to pass on.

You have enough hope: only when a man has enough hope, is he ready to be trampled; only once a pig has been fattened, is it ripe for slaughter. We shall meet again—in the place where there is no darkness.

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