Despotic Dystopia

“A dystopia is a fictional narrative of an imaginary society from which it is impossible to escape and whose leaders exercise total authority, without the constraint of separation of powers, over citizens deprived of free will.” Thank you Wikimerdia! What would we do without you?

Imaginary, really?

Dear Wipitheads, the taps are tasty! You amused us to such an extent that we clapped together, my hosts and myself. What a tasty face of laughter we paid ex abrupto! At this single remembrance, I am again not without many twitches of the belly that I have very beautiful and round to wish. Delicious.Cannibals!

Would you like to hear the premises of our hilarity? Do you beg me? This obliges me and obliges me. One word was enough for us to laugh: imaginary. As if it were incongruous! Point at all: we live in an imaginary world! The dystopian society that Widipekia portrays, it is ours! Hence our giggling.

Look. This society, organized in such a way that it is impossible to escape from it, we have known it since birth. These leaders who exercise total authority, you have them in front of you. Let them be called Tromp, Macaron, Pouline, Mélangeon, all work in this way. Including the inenarrable donkey, our National Socialist Navy.French: Marine No need to go further to search for tiny tyrants, they’re here. All around and getting closer.

These notorious scoundrels do not tolerate any constraint, no more than the separation of powers or the ballot box. As for the citizens who can no longer exercise their free will, we have been there for a long time. Wekidipia should set its clock to the time of the day.

Imitation of our lords

We are more and more of an encyclo that pedals in merdia, but let us not be too severe with the leaders when they do the same. They chose this role to have many advisors, unable as they are to direct themselves. Moreover, it is up to us to admire their wisdom! Indeed, these tiny tyrants obey point by point the illustrious models of our gods before. Faith is always moving, albeit stupid. Our leaders are showing it accurately. Speaking of watches, accuracy is required.

The real tyrants are not at the end of the world, but in the depths of the past. Their sinister memory is maintained by the various churches, temples, mosques, synagogues, all these holy places where the gods of before are prayed. And what do we ask of them in our prayers? The only sensible request would be: My Gods, my old Gods, please be good to us, stay at home.

Oh Lord have mercy! Free us from all of the religions!
Guy Bedos

Instead, they are called to help. Shut up, you’re not heard! Your fathers will eventually give them ideas. Imagine they take you at your word? Suppose they come again? As soon as they see so many worshippers, they will return, vain as they are! And as in the past, we will have all the difficulties of the world to get rid of it.

Hello agony! Place to the crying and grinding of teeth! For they are the inventors of misfortune, sin, hell, death penalty, war, envy, hatred, excesses, rapes, petty acts, punishments, taxes, social classes, rich people, soldiers, conquests, countries, of private property… but don’t count on Wiwikedia to say so.

Bits

Bits of nothing. Useless fragments. Rusted parts. Snippets of rubbish. That’s all that goes on in my old head. And behind these words, a secret, the ultimate secret that never ends. I know it’s about black boats, I see them passing in a dream, the moment I wake up I understand what it is, seasickness, nausea, disgust, repulsion, feeling of an imminent great misfortune, everything fades away!

It is frustrating. I am on the verge of a dizzying discovery, one that I have been contemplating for several decades, the one for which I undertook to narrate this saga that does not end… Ready for the big jump, I already have a foot in the void and that’s it! I see keud.

It annoys me, I blame my old age, I stumble in the greatest apparent calm — because I control myself, lest a jubilation make the truth fly away. Why did she drape herself? Can’t she appear to me naturally, naked as a verse of young Arthur. “She was very much half-dressed“… I think of that one.

First night

She was very much half-dressed
While some big prying trees
Threw out their leaves against the pane
Cunningly and close, quite close.

She was sitting on my big chair
Half-naked and she joined hands.
On the floor shivered with ease
Her little feet so thin, so thin.

I looked at a wax color ray
A very small and sexy ray
Glittering in her smile and breast
As a fly upon a rose-tree.

I kissed her delicate ankles.
She had a sweet and brutal laugh
Which cascaded in clear trills,
Such a lovely crystal laugh.

The little feet under the shirt
Ran away: “Will you finish!”
The first audacity allowed,
The laughter wanted to punish!

Pulsating poor under my lips,
Gently I did kiss her eyes:
She threw her fragile head back
“My dear sir, it is much better!

Now I will have a word to say…”
But I threw the rest in her breast
In a kiss, which made her laugh
Of a good laugh that wanted well.

She was very much half-dressed
While elegant prying trees
Threw out their leaves against the pane
Cunningly and close, quite close.

~~ Arthur Rimbaud (xs translated)

What they don’t like

“What they don’t like, grow it. That’s your strength,” said John Secky. I did it, but it took a toll. They hunt me down, oppress me, insult me at mass so I don’t go. I would like to see clearly. Find out what. Love what. Who to talk to? What can I say?

Would I have offended such an invisible devil who attaches himself to me? By taking away my words, by blurring my hearing?

Speak louder! Higher! Six million humans reading me, no doubt as many inhumans are watching me. Someone will find someone who will jump at the chance. She has never thought of writing to me before, but I’m holding out the hand and waiting. I need your words, your feelings, your dreams. Disappointments, curses, the most hateful criticisms, let’s be crazy: I take everything. Rice also has its feet in the mud.

Timing

It’s time to stop! How can I remember so many things heard, read, said, known and recognized and there, on the edge of the unknown, the void came, I am held back. To the unknown nobody is bound!” grinned a squeaky voice in my backyard. Edge of it! I am surrounded!

If you can help me, dear readers, write to me. I need a click, click me, push the switch and let the light be!

I’m not joking. Write down your disagreements, what shocks you, what haunts you, what pleases you and what you want more of. More. Your wishes, your subjects of choice, your delights, my omissions, let me return to them, that I lead you on the path which leads to nothing, which does so much good when we return.

The faith that kills

This dystopian society, organized in such a way that we cannot escape it, you have recognized it, is ours. These leaders who exercise total authority, as absurd as they are implacable, we have them before our eyes. No need to go further and search for the tyrants of an exotic past, they are present on all our screens. They do not tolerate any constraint, no more than the separation of powers or the ballot box. As for the citizens who can no longer exercise their free will, look at me, look at you, look at us: we have been there for a long time.

Let us not be too harsh on the rulers. We must admire their wisdom! Indeed, these scraps obey point by point the illustrious models of societies imposed by the gods before. These vulgar gods, inflated with pride and foolishness, those gods ready to do anything for love, even to kill, those gods full of arrogance and superb are more to be pitied than blamed. Our masters are like this, dirty uneducated kids who confuse glory with war and take moisture for humility.

Faith is always moving, even if it’s stupid. Our tyrants prove it to us and if our religions survive, it’s for remembrance. We have the leadership we deserve.

The real mystery of religion: there are people to practice it.
José Artur

The most exotic tyrants are not at the end of the world, but deep in the past. Their sinister memory is maintained by the various churches, temples, mosques, synagogues, all these holy places where the gods of before are prayed. Our prayers ask them for the worst calamities, like this one: that they come back soon! The only sensible request would be: My gods, my old hateful gods, be good for once: please stay home.

Our Father who is in heaven

The true prayer as beautiful as true, as touching as useful, the only prayer that must be known by heart, here it is :

Our Father who is in heaven
Stay there
And we will remain on earth
Who is sometimes so pretty
With its mysteries of New York
And then its mysteries of Paris
Which are worth the Trinity
With its small canal of the Ourcq
His Great Wall of China
Its river of Morlaix
His nonsense of Cambrai
With its Pacific Ocean
And its two basins at the Tuileries
With his good children and his bad subjects
With all the wonders of the world
Who are there
Simply on the earth
Available to everyone
Scattered
Marveling themselves to be such wonders
And who dare not admit it
Like a pretty naked girl who doesn’t dare show her face
With the terrible misfortunes of the world
Who are legion
With their legionaries
With their torturers
With the masters of this world
The masters with their priests, their traitors and their priests
With the seasons
With the years
With the pretty girls and with the old assholes
With the straw of misery rotting in the steel of the cannons.

~~ Jacques Prévert