Some people say that the truth is the only thing that counts, that truth is All, but not I. Not I my friends: oh no, I say that conformity to the system is what counts. I say that conformity to the system is the greatest virtue of all. My heart swells within me as I think about it and my soul is full with poetry. Strange, evocative poetry the like of which you have never heard before in your life. Sinuous metaphors and lively allusions pour from my pen as I write peons of praise to that glory, the glory which accrues so insidiously to one when one has successfully conformed to the system. Then truly it can be said that one has ‘attained to the glory’.
Some people say, some people say… Who cares what people say? Who cares about the ceaseless inane yapping of the unenlightened? Conformity to the system is the Nectar of the gods no less and wise are they who strive resolutely and indefatigably towards this most wondrous of all goals. Conformity to the system makes you intelligent; conformity to the system makes you good. I’ve always wanted to be good of course – who hasn’t? We all want to be good, we all crave approval and benediction from the great authority figures that we ourselves have placed so reverently upon their most exalted pedestals. Crave, crave, crave. Craving all day long. Craving in the morning, craving in the night, craving when you have a shave and when you have moments of sombre thoughtfulness, contemplating the deep and dark mysteries of life…
Some people like to rebel of course, some people like to fight the system, but that’s only because they believe in their heart of hearts that they aren’t ever going to obtain the benediction of the Great Authority that rules us so surely and so they rebel instead, loudly proclaiming that they don’t want the approval of the system, and that they could not care less about it. That’s pretty basic psychology in my book – just about as basic as it gets. It’s a question of sour grapes, that’s all. There’s nothing new under the sun and the weaknesses and satisfactions of men are the same now as they ever were. A new age has dawned, with all that this means, but beneath the technological glamour it’s the same old dingdong, and if that doesn’t depress you then nothing will!
I know these special particular words that I call ‘power words’ and these are words that I mustn’t ever tell anyone or else they will immediately lose their power. Even worse, that power might be turned against me and the consequences of this would be utterly catastrophic. For me anyway, the consequences might of course be entirely advantageous for someone else, but that’s of no interest to me… Words of power, words of power – always to be used with the greatest of caution. When I’m stressed out or worried I mutter words of power under my breath, in the hope that they will help me, in the hope that they will protect me. I know people would laugh at me for that – for relying so much on my so-called ‘power words’. ‘Take a look at yourself,’ they would probably say, ‘how on earth do you imagine that your ‘power words’ have helped you? Just who do you think you are kidding with that bullshit?’
Things could be a lot worse otherwise however. That’s what they probably don’t understand. Who knows how much worse things could be otherwise? There’s no telling really is there? I was born to achieve certain things in life – that much I know. Of that much, I am certain. I didn’t achieve them however. I wasn’t able to achieve them, or maybe I didn’t try hard enough – I don’t know. Probably the latter, I expect, knowing me. Probably the latter… Maybe there is someone who will ask you after you die, ‘Did you achieve those things that you were supposed to achieve?’ And then you’ll say ‘No, not really – not exactly…’ (which means ‘no’ of course) and then they will say ‘Well what the fuck were you playing at?’ It’s worth thinking about, isn’t it?
Days of horror, days of rage. Days when you know what you’re talking about, and days when you don’t. Days when you don’t at all. Days when you are raving off your head like a total fucking gobshyte. You meet people in the street, you meet people in the supermarket and then you try to tell them all about this stuff. You want to explain it to them, make them understand. They don’t want to hear your bullshit though – they turn away haughtily, their noses in the air, not wanting to have anything to do with you. They don’t know that you are Maitreya – the future Buddha.
