“How could you have a slogan like ‘freedom is slavery’ when the concept of freedom has been abolished? The whole climate of thought will be different. In fact there will be no thought, as we understand it now. Orthodoxy means not thinking-not needing to think. Orthodoxy is unconsciousness.” George Orwell.
The building changes shape as it sees fit, almost as if its only purpose was to never be seen the same way. The old man with the beard stands up. It’s been so long his joints crackle and he is a bit wobbly. He sees a door open and senses freedom for the first time in a long, long time. He sits down swiftly as the door closes immediately after it opens. How can you sit here, day after day writing words which are never read and as that building…It’s just a distraction, you can’t worry about that building, it becomes you, you can’t worry…maybe it’s a distraction but…it’s hard to close your eyes…but it’s there…and you don’t know if you are. The Detective falls to his knees. His eyes close but he can still see the building spinning within his mind. You can see anything you want coming from there, the old man points to the building. I thought I was sent here to find truth…what is truth? As he stands up a rainbow appears in the distance, shooting over the top of the shifting building. If you can’t find it, maybe the problem lies in it not being a thing at all. Through shadows he watches a claw form, reaching out for his mind. Tears of blood fall from his eyes as he hears piercing screams traveling down a long black corridor. He sees people rising from the soil beneath his feet. The Doctor’s heart bursts into flames. He touches his own enflamed heart as he hears a ringing in his ears. The sky burns pink as he once again finds himself in the middle of a vast desert. A dark shadow appears along the burning pink horizon. The shadow is clutching onto something so bright, burning so strong, The Detective cannot fully open his eyes to see it. The light is trying to communicate to him as he is walking towards the shadow. The pulsing within him tells him he’s heading in the right direction. The old man cries out to him, remember it is not a thing. No, no, it’s not just a thing, it is everything he is.
“What are the differences between Mark Zuckerberg and me? I give private information on corporations for free, and I’m a villain. Zuckerberg gives your private information to corporations for money and he’s Man of the Year.” Julian Assange