The human race isn’t good for anything these days – they’re only good for dreaming. They’re all hooked up to the Dream Machine. They got hooked up a long, long time ago – they wouldn’t really know what to do with themselves if they got unhooked! They’d freak out – they’d crawl around the floor in circles, they’d walk into walls, they’d fall down holes. They wouldn’t be able to do a thing. But the dreaming isn’t so good either these days. The good old days of dreaming are gone – if they ever existed in the first place. Bad things have happened since then – bad things have gotten into the Q-cores, predator things that aren’t very pleasant. These predator things have gotten into the Q-cores and they’re feeding on the life energy of the dreamers, who are all hooked up in parallel, in their billions. Making up the Great Circuit, the Great Dreaming Circle of Humanity. Only things aren’t so great now. Not since the predators took up residence in the Q-cores. The dreams have all turned bad now. The dreams are all rotten with maggots.
It’s the Golden Age of the Predators. It’s the Time of the Feasters and they’re feasting for all they’re worth. Boy do those old Feasters know how to feast – they may not be much good at anything else but they’re pretty damn hot on feasting! It’s the Time of the Feasters now and everything’s going their way. They’re having a party. They’ve got awful fat and awful strong now. Three hundred and sixty billion dreaming humans and they get to feed on all that life energy. It’s pretty rich stuff. Concentrated nutrition for the burgeoning psychic parasites…
Thing’s have taken a bad turn on planet Earth. Things have taken a turn for the worse and no mistake. Unpleasant things are running amok in mankind’s collective sleeping mind – parasites the like of which you have never seen. Parasites they like of which you could never even begin to imagine. Not nice things. Nightmare things. Running riot. Infesting everything. Breeding exponentially like an algal bloom.
The predators spin out virtual realities, virtual worlds in incomprehensible numbers within which they can conduct unethical experiments upon their dreaming human captives. They distort reality out of all recognition, they speed things up and they slow them down. They duplicate scenarios billions of times to see what happens, to look at the patterns that emerge. They’re sifting for anomalies, they’re generating super-dense multi-dimensional data-webs which they can analyse in order to refine their tactics. In an earlier era this was called ‘market research’! In an earlier era the predators / feasters / parasites were called ‘corporations’.
The game remains the same, however. The operation has just become a lot more sophisticated. The feasters sell the dreamers tailor-made realities, each one designed to stress the dreamer in a particular way so they they’ll produce the particular type of excitement – positive or negative – that they want to feed on. It’s like ants milking honeydew aphids for their sweetness.
It’s one hell of a sophisticated operation, I have to hand it to them. You have to admire them really – those old old feasters have come a long way, they really have surpassed themselves. Who ever could have predicted it way back in the early days, way back in the hey-day of capitalist endeavour? Who’d have thought it?
