“The great purges involving thousands of people, with public trials of traitors and thought – criminals who made abject confession of their crimes and were afterwards executed, were special showpieces not occurring oftener than once in a couple of years. More commonly, people who had incurred the displeasure of the Party simply disappeared and were never heard of again.” George Orwell
…love me like a bomb…love is like a bomb…His eyes are mirrors of the desert he feels burning his skin. The blood of the sun melts down his skin, escaping shadows eclipse its glow. A pink burning darkness covers the atmosphere as a thick green fog ascends from the spinning vortex below. The blood evaporates into his mind. His heart beat continues pounding so hard it seems to push out of his skin. The sun shatters in his mind and he sees a house on a farm from a long way away, or far into the future. The house is on fire, the books, the words, the knowledge turned to ashes in a blink of his mirrored eyes. There is a figure standing in the burning doorway, waving him away. The Doctor screams something out to him, his bare fire scarred feet pushing angrily into the ground, a fury on Earth nearing its explosion. The Detective clutches his head as if he is trying to hold it together. He sees his hat on the ground up ahead in the distance. The Doctor is raising his hands as if he is conducting an orchestra. He watches his head rising up from the ground below his hat, his hands reaching through the soil, grasping at the burning sun. His body continues growing from the ground as he lets out a scream. In an explosion he is taken back to his present reality.
He is floating in the sky, enjoying a short spell of calmness. He opens his eyes to the image of the disturbingly approaching ground below him. The eclipse breaks and shards of light escape from his eyes as he grits his teeth and prepares to explode. There is a large group below him wearing dark hoods, holding candles and slowly moving below him. He tightly closes his eyes…cmon get it on He hears himself explode before he feels the impact. He feels hands below him gently cradling him to safety. He is rocked back and forth as he slowly opens his eyes. His eyes yield to the power sneaking passed the blackened sun. The Movement carries him up a hill where an old man with a beard is furiously writing as the pages falling from his desk instantly catch fire. I have been calling you for so long, the old man says, where have you been?
I’ve been a bit busy these days.
“You have to start with the truth. The truth is the only way that we can get anywhere. Because any decision-making that is based upon lies or ignorance can’t lead to a good conclusion.” Julian Assange #wearemillions