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Powerless Beyond Measure

Bell turned in for work as usual. Grim and grey, waiting for the inevitable.

By mid-morning, enough was enough for Blue. Kids bouncing off the walls, for whom the only meaningful activity was texting your mate across the room to see if s/he was still functioning.

Globbis climbed the ladder into her car and could look down on lorry drivers who had thought themselves king of the road. She fought with herself as she contemplated diving into the drinks bar under the dashboard.

PC Mollusc was doing the rounds, immune to graffiti on every wall; litter, gum, the odd used blurker and fag ends clogged up the grids. Shutters adorned the shops which dispensed the life-giving cocktail of poison and the American dream.

Harvey Cobbler was delivering the ‘news.’ Scientists had discovered we were all doomed, and should stay in our homes to expire. Apparently we ran the risk of catching human being virus by venturing out. And if the plague didn’t get us, the genes of someone in our ancestral line who died at 18 of consumption would.

Given the exponential rise in deaths, the Government had rushed through a bill outlawing new undertaking businesses, and raising corporation tax on established ones to 97%.

In parts of the country not yet like post-nuclear bomb sites parents worried about their kid’s exam performance had been buying skip loads of Ritalin on-line. Having their [dead] child diagnosed as dyslexic would guarantee more resources being spent on keeping them [preserved] awake at school.

The Euro-Sink Gong contest had been won by Tony Blair. He had voted himself ‘Most-Promising Liar of 2007.’ Terry Wogan had injected more than his normal amount of jocular xenophobic bile into his commentary, and had been suicide bombed by an animal rights activist. You can guess which part of him was left.

Billy Burger MPs just returning from the Champions League Final were lobbying anyone not nailed down to stop unfair criticism of their corporate patrons. Coating ‘meat’ with plastic was good for the environment and had no known effects on deadly radiation from phone masts.

Bob Bonofee of H-Been was exhorting what was left of the masses to restrict themselves to one sheet of toilet paper per visit, and was holding himself up as a role model for the practice. “Save water too man, share the pan.” Crowds rushed to shake his hand as he paddled up S*** Creek.

Bees had declared non-GMO crops as uncool. Or at least Queen Moss of the brain-dead hive was reported as saying. “You can’t get an unnatural high from all that organic crap, and we bees need to be high man, or we’ll drop down on your ‘eads and sting you.” The whole raft of recent celebrity-turned bee-keepers were crest-fallen. Moss was invited to promote her message via an interpreter on the Breakfast couch.

No-one knew if the world was ending, had ended or was the backdrop for a photo-shoot of rock ‘n’ roll chic.

The previously incessant brain chatter amongst 7745* of the world’s population had ceased. Deposed ancient tribes and peoples were connecting to the ‘Liberation Song.’

Up until now, plants had been doing their best to educate sections of the population, but had succeeded only in turning the odd aristocratic anachronism into a dubious champion.

All three signs had been there for years. By most of the world being kept in a state of high alert, like athletes permanently fixed to the starting blocks, inner voices were drowned out by 500 watts of pure synthetic dross.

Jeff had parted from his hair and his inhibitions. Pavel knew the time was right. Sunita had dreamed about this for years.

All that was left to overcome was the reverse of the phenomenon encountered by indigenous people in the West Indies when they were invaded by the likes of Columbus et al.

When the invading ships landed, only their shamen could see them, as everyone lese had nothing in their memory which allowed them to ‘see’ sailing ships. The ships were there, anchored off shore, but no image formed on the natives retina.

By contrast, we have been ‘seeing’ things which are illusory. ‘Fashion’, compulsive shopping, ‘green’ fuel guzzlers, ‘nice’ murderers, ethical leaders [sorry Nelson, you’re excluded], ‘healthy’ processed foods, ‘safe’ binge-driving, ‘magic-bullet’ drugs, articulate ‘style icons’, and low-calorie lard.

However by creating events and accounts of events which defied the imagination, the fear/trivia/control propaganda mixture had shot its bolt.

Harvey Cobbler had nothing more to say. 20 years of doom and gloom prevented him from reading good news. He faded into happy obscurity.

PC Mollusc had an over-subscribed gang of ‘lobsters’ cleaning up the streets.

Globbis leased her behemoth to the lifeboat service.

Blue couldn’t wait to get to school. Kids glowed like beacons of wisdom and curiosity.

Belle had acquired an extra ‘e’. Grim and grey shifted instantly to joyous and colourful. The pain in her chest had dissolved and evaporated. Every single restrictive, negative programmed limiting belief had been washed away. The other 7744 had similar experiences.

Controlling, life-sapping, coercive institutions had collapsed like a pack of cards.

Queen Moss became a caterpillar…

JS, June 07

* this figure is the square root of 0.1% per cent of the global population [6 billion]. This is [I’m told] all we need to transform global consciousness. And why not?