A Kingdom of Distorted Mirrors
I had a dream, a very strange dream about being “peacefully” enslaved by “well-intended” invading people who wanted to control my sexuality for life. It was all “peaceful” and “family-like” as long as I submitted by body to their authority, which claimed that sex was not to be had under any circumstances because it was from now on forbidden.
The dream was so vivid and so unpleasantly bizarre that I woke up with a 2019 mind, as if the past a year and a half have never happened, and I have not been bathing in the gradually warming water inside the pot.
Through the power of an intensified dream experience, an entire year and a half of abuse fell off—and as I looked around, I felt like I had gone traveling, and arrived in a bizarre sci-fi kingdom of distorted mirrors and people who had been poisoned by professional criminals, with great cruelty and precision. A kingdom ruled by cold-blooded psychopaths.
Like a fairy tale about lying villains.
As I look around, I don’t recognize this land.
What happened to us?
Force-masking little children and depriving their growing brains of oxygen?
Forcefully locking old people inside nursing homes and euthanizing some of them, in silence, with compete impunity, with zero attention from the public?
Chasing after free citizens with syringes filled with a lucrative concoction of carcinogenic nanoparticles and synthetic mRNA whose long-term effects are entirely unknown?
Silencing respected scientists and doctors who dare talk about the alarming data coming in regarding the safety of what’s in the syringe?
WTF?
And don’t give me this “health emergency” television narrative. Just don’t. It’s been a year and a half, and I am tired of deflecting bullshit.
It was okay to be terrified a year and a half ago—and we all were, and we all complied in varying degrees, and wore the stupid masks, and danced the dance of “two weeks to flatten the curve, and ____.”
But now?
Look around.
Where is reality?
The news narrative falls apart from the slightest poke. You breathe on it—and it falls apart. There is almost nothing true about it. And if you poke a little deeper, you discover with incredible disgust there never was.
I am screaming on the inside. We have been duped!!!
A lot of what they did to the elders in nursing homes was murder, and that murder was used to scare us even more.
A lot of what they did to hospital patients was medical mismanagement, some of which was also murder, and it was used to scare us even more.
The stats were rigged.
The hospitals weren’t overrun any more than they were in preceding years.
The diagnostic tests—nuance aside—weren’t suitable to diagnose clinical disease—and it was known—and yet they went right ahead enforcing them, to scare us even more.
The lucrative industry plans to introduce multiple mandatory adult injections on a massive scale predated the “pandemic”—and so did the plans to put everyone on digital IDs to control every aspect of our lives—and so did the plans to refocus the healthcare on “gene therapy” and “precision medicine”—and so did the plans to move education online as much as possible for data capture—and so did many other components of the wretched transhumanist reform.
Health response?
Really?
We need to stop doing this.
We just need to stop doing this.
We just need to snap out of it.
Wake up.
I love you.
Please wake up.
(Here is a segment of my interview with Mark Crispin Miller from April 2021. It still stands.)
Just as you did, I found my muse in writing prose during the lockdown (although your work is more poetic). Every year at my blog, I do a monthlong Halloween celebration. It's a music blog, but last year I started putting up some parables and dystopic short fiction because I saw a need for it. Here's one from last fall that I think stands up to the test of time:
Watchtowers
One upon a time in a kingdom not so faraway, the king called his grand vizier to the royal chambers.
“We are in trouble,” the king announced. “A democracy has sprung up in the adjoining land. People vote for their king now, and they can vote him out. And women can vote too. Imagine! The hubris! If we don’t invade the democracy and take it over, it won’t be long before the people here think they can have democracy too! They’ll want to keep all their corn and soybeans instead of giving them to us. They’ll even want to grow crops other than corn and soybeans. This cannot be!”
“I don’t mean to second-guess Your Highness,” the grand vizier replied, “But we’re a little hamlet of fifty thousand people, and the democracy beyond the border has three hundred and twenty million. If we invade, that’s suicide.”
“We may be tiny, but we’re very rich,” the king replied. “That’s because we’ve worked our population to the bone. And they see what’s going on next door and it won’t be long before we’re toiling for them! So I have devised the perfect way to stay in power, in fact, to take over the democracy next door and then the world! Call the royal herald!”
The grand vizier called the royal herald. “Yes, Your Majesty?” the royal herald asked.
“Herald! I want you to go throughout the land and announce that a horrible boogieman has been sighted. This boogieman is the most evil boogieman of them all. He kidnaps children, preys on the elderly, steals crops and horses and will burn every shotgun shack to the ground! He has the power to destroy the harvest, to prevent childbearing and turn reasonable adults into babbling idiots!”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the royal herald replied. “But how are we going to prove this boogieman actually exists?”
“Leave that to me,” said the king. “Now get the hell out of here.”
The herald returned in a fortnight. “The people are all terrified of this horrible boogieman,” he told the king. “But what do we tell them next?”
“Summon the sherriff,” the king ordered.
“Yes, Your Highness?” the sherriff inquired.
“Summon all the serfs in the land and construct a series of watchtowers. And then man them with spies from distant towns, not from their own communities. That way the spies won’t have allegiance to the people they’re watching.”
“But what will they snooping for?” the sherriff asked.
“Anything,” the king replied. “Fornicating. Music-making. Congregating in groups of more than one. The possession of garlic or grapefruit.”
“Pardon me for asking, sire, but what are garlic and grapefruit?” the sherriff asked.
“Never mind. If we don’t act now, the whole population will be reeking of garlic and full of grapefruit juice and ready for battle…against us! In order to prevent such insurrective behavior I want you to deputize a posse and go around at night, when all the peasants are sleeping, and round up all the grandparents and the hermits. Then beat their skulls in.’
The king turned to the herald.
“Next, I want you to go around and spread the news that the boogieman is responsible for all this killing, and that the only way to find him and stop him is to build more watchtowers.”
So the sherriff and his deputies went around slaughtering peasants in their sleep, and the herald went around spreading the news that the boogieman had done it. He also announced that since there were no longer enough peasants to simultaneously attend to the harvest, the gathering of wood and the construction of watchtowers, they would have to build the towers with the timber from their own homes instead of cutting down trees in the forest.
The sherriff met with a good deal of resistance from the peasants, but after another round of killing, blamed on the boogieman, the peasants began dismantling their shacks and constructing even more towers throughout the land.
Next, the king summoned the royal envoy. “Envoy! You are to journey to that accursed democracy across the border and obtain a meeting with their leaders. Explain to them that we have been afflicted with a most frightful boogieman. He has terrible powers and has slaughtered a large percentage of our population. Here – bring this bag of royal gold with you. Whatever it takes, just get them to agree that the only way to catch this boogieman is to build watchtowers all over, just as we have done.”
“And if I run out of gold?” the envoy asked.
“I’ll put the royal counterfeiter…um…alchemist in charge of that. Go now and report back to me in a fortnight!”
Meanwhile, there was trouble all across the land. The king’s idea of putting people from faraway villages in charge of spying on communities they’d never visited before was most successful, and resulted in a steady stream of arrests and executions. But at night, some of the peasants began sneaking out and setting fire to the watchtowers. Several spies were horribly burned to death.
That winter was an especially severe one. With just tents made from muleskins strung together, and no firewood to keep them warm, many peasants froze to death. Again, the king and his herald blamed the deaths on the boogieman.
Meanwhile, the leadership of the democracy next door had become alarmed. This boogieman was truly as terrible and unstoppable as the envoy had described! Half of the country’s population was dead now, or so he’d told them. Something had to be done!
So the prime minister and parliament got together and announced that just like the kingdom next door, all efforts would be henceforth devoted to the construction of even higher watchtowers. The royal envoy also managed to convince the nation’s chief of public works, with a little help from a bagful of gold, that the right way to run a system of watchtowers was to man them with people from faraway counties with no loyalty to those they were spying on.
Meanwhile, all public works were suspended, and citizens were required to hide indoors until the boogieman could be spotted. And the royal herald worked overtime spreading the news that the boogieman had the power to instantly kill anyone who left their homes. Therefore, if someone was spotted on the street, and they were alive, they were the boogieman!
But people will be people, and it wasn’t more than an hour or two before the first citizen snuck out to meet her boyfriend. Overhead, a spy spotted her, aimed his high-powered rifle and blew the woman away. Of course, this was blamed on the boogieman.
But a lot of citizens didn’t buy it. And so it was that the residents of Port Gluteus blamed the sharpshooter from Minor Cerebellum for the killing, and overran Minor Cerebellum and scalped most of their residents.
As the days went on, more and people started to get hungry and snuck from their homes, only to be shot by the snipers in the towers, who then triumphantly posted snuff videos all over social media. It was in this way that the citizens of Ham Flats were pitted against the people of Pareve, and the residents of Stillwater succumbed to the hordes from Tippiecanoe.
One day a little boy, disheveled and rail-thin, emerged from the ruins where he’d been hiding. “Why are you all killing each other?” he asked. “Why aren’t you looking for the boogieman?”
“Because the boogieman is you, sucker,” the sniper in the tower above hollered back as he reached for his rifle.
And so it was that a tinpot dictator and his cronies from a tiny, inept little country of fifty thousand were able to invade and take over a nation of three hundred twenty million people – and reduce the population to one hundred sixty. The end.
I have had a hard time recently with my own thoughts and perspective, which comes as a shock to me sometimes, but not other times, depending upon my thoughts and perspective at the moment. I'd like to say that I'm usually a lot more stable than this, and I might be, but it's hard to tell when you are evaluating yourself in choppy-waters. Jenny helps. Thanks Jenny!
You might or might not be experiencing ups and downs of your personal perspective as broad abstractions get pierced by little flying-realities on a daily basis. Whatever worldview any of us may have, it is breaking down in the parts where we use it to predict the near and slightly more distant future, and to judge what our best plans and actions should be today, tomorrow and next month.
We can see things shifting, becoming less reliable, becoming more threatening and demanding, more divisive at every turn. We can see that this has happened before in history, but we never understood it from our vantage points. I don't know that "understanding it" is a good description now, either, but I'm starting to get it.
It's a feeling of desperation. We might all feel like it's mostly a personal thing, but I really don't think it is. I think I personally feel anxiety and desperation and frustration, anger, judgementality, and I don't think I'm alone. I honestly think these feelings suffuse a large human group when resources start to get tight.
The clinginess is like a drowning swimmer drowning the would-be rescuer.
I took life-saving in college . I eventually saved a life in Galveston Bay. We could both have died.
We wondered for a couple of hours. It was not yet that day..
It was actually somewhat calmer than living in Austin, Texas in 2021. And we have it a lot better in Texas than most places in this desperate world.
I keep growing vegetables. I keep treating patients. I am about to bike to the clinic again.
I am sharing my feelings with you.
https://www.johndayblog.com/2021/07/no-longer-abstract.html