Entries
Entry #1
I saw the dark haired girl today during the Two Minutes Hate today, Her Junior Anti-Sex League sash and rage aroused a strong hatred and fixation within me toward her. Having passed her before in the halls, I had never liked her. She was another beautiful young woman who would marry her time to the party and its every agenda. She would regurgitate slogans to everyone she could and would believe them. She would never look at me lovingly, only as a comrade. The whole world to her would be as shallow as a comrade. Most of the young ones think that way now. They are the party, not just a member or a servant. This girl, however, seems particularly worrisome. The way she glanced intently at me in the hall makes me wonder if she works for the thought police and they’ve noticed. I have no real evidence of this, but I must be more careful.
O’Brien was terrifying and impressive throughout the Hate. His massive form and resonating voice were overwhelming. I find that he is somehow trustworthy. Somehow I am under the impression that he shares my feelings towards the the party.
I find myself speculating more and more as I don’t have the ability to verify any of my thoughts. IT WILL DRIVE ME MAD, I JUST KNOW IT.
Entry #2
I awoke violently this morning mumbling something odd. Shakespeare, I think it was. Hate fear perhaps. Regardless, the dreams I had awoken from had been sufficiently jarring. I had recalled my mother and felt in incredible weight in my chest. The dark haired girl had been there as well with her beauty and athleticism that only amplified the pressure around my heart. I am grateful the thought police cannot monitor my dreams because I would surely have been eliminated an age ago. I had no desire to remove myself from the bed that provided me little comfort more than to escape the confines of the party for however long I can. These thoughts are dangerous. I shouldn’t feel this way about those keeping myself and the nation safe, but I can’t help but wonder if there is a better way. If the party is sticking to their guns and refusing to improve the way we live on purpose. Do they know how much confined suffering there is? Surely they do if they know whether someone is thinking poorly of them simply by their facial expression. Do they know I have these thoughts before know that I have these thoughts? I can’t imagine they would take my face too seriously, as I could simply be experiencing some gastrointestinal distress or have stubbed my toe. Perhaps my withering body will be my salvation in that facet as I can blame my apparent distress on pain or stiffness. I do not think I pose a threat to the party even with my disapproval. I nonetheless fear that will cease to exist one of these day just another blip in time that someone my stumble upon when writing the obituaries.
Entry #3
Dreaming of the dark haired girl after witnessing her supple body during the two minutes hate must have encouraged the train of thought that led me to remember the night I broke a significant rule with a withered old woman for two dollars. It was another attempt at fulfilling my sexuality that was met with the barriers of the party. Katharine had been willing to submit for the sake of the party. She cared not for me or even herself, The old woman was willing and she too was absent of affection or respect, only seeking payment for a service. Sex is a service, There is no intimacy, love, or even reciprocation of lust. The party has done it’s job well.
I saw the dark haired girl today during the Two Minutes Hate today, Her Junior Anti-Sex League sash and rage aroused a strong hatred and fixation within me toward her. Having passed her before in the halls, I had never liked her. She was another beautiful young woman who would marry her time to the party and its every agenda. She would regurgitate slogans to everyone she could and would believe them. She would never look at me lovingly, only as a comrade. The whole world to her would be as shallow as a comrade. Most of the young ones think that way now. They are the party, not just a member or a servant. This girl, however, seems particularly worrisome. The way she glanced intently at me in the hall makes me wonder if she works for the thought police and they’ve noticed. I have no real evidence of this, but I must be more careful.
O’Brien was terrifying and impressive throughout the Hate. His massive form and resonating voice were overwhelming. I find that he is somehow trustworthy. Somehow I am under the impression that he shares my feelings towards the the party.
I find myself speculating more and more as I don’t have the ability to verify any of my thoughts. IT WILL DRIVE ME MAD, I JUST KNOW IT.
Entry #2
I awoke violently this morning mumbling something odd. Shakespeare, I think it was. Hate fear perhaps. Regardless, the dreams I had awoken from had been sufficiently jarring. I had recalled my mother and felt in incredible weight in my chest. The dark haired girl had been there as well with her beauty and athleticism that only amplified the pressure around my heart. I am grateful the thought police cannot monitor my dreams because I would surely have been eliminated an age ago. I had no desire to remove myself from the bed that provided me little comfort more than to escape the confines of the party for however long I can. These thoughts are dangerous. I shouldn’t feel this way about those keeping myself and the nation safe, but I can’t help but wonder if there is a better way. If the party is sticking to their guns and refusing to improve the way we live on purpose. Do they know how much confined suffering there is? Surely they do if they know whether someone is thinking poorly of them simply by their facial expression. Do they know I have these thoughts before know that I have these thoughts? I can’t imagine they would take my face too seriously, as I could simply be experiencing some gastrointestinal distress or have stubbed my toe. Perhaps my withering body will be my salvation in that facet as I can blame my apparent distress on pain or stiffness. I do not think I pose a threat to the party even with my disapproval. I nonetheless fear that will cease to exist one of these day just another blip in time that someone my stumble upon when writing the obituaries.
Entry #3
Dreaming of the dark haired girl after witnessing her supple body during the two minutes hate must have encouraged the train of thought that led me to remember the night I broke a significant rule with a withered old woman for two dollars. It was another attempt at fulfilling my sexuality that was met with the barriers of the party. Katharine had been willing to submit for the sake of the party. She cared not for me or even herself, The old woman was willing and she too was absent of affection or respect, only seeking payment for a service. Sex is a service, There is no intimacy, love, or even reciprocation of lust. The party has done it’s job well.
Poetry
living under the party
living under big brother
never living for myself
never loving another
oppression by any other name would smell as foul
being caged and muzzled
a pacing wolf unable to howl
obeying the party
obeying big brother
quiet about my hatred
quiet about my mother
knowing all too well that I will be undone
removed from all record
never having played in the sun
hating the party
hating big brother
hating myself
hating the others
Must we bow our heads and be passive
could we conquer a beast so massive?
living under big brother
never living for myself
never loving another
oppression by any other name would smell as foul
being caged and muzzled
a pacing wolf unable to howl
obeying the party
obeying big brother
quiet about my hatred
quiet about my mother
knowing all too well that I will be undone
removed from all record
never having played in the sun
hating the party
hating big brother
hating myself
hating the others
Must we bow our heads and be passive
could we conquer a beast so massive?