Church418
Peace is a lie, There is only Passion
(Based on my favorite book: 1987 
)
Consider a world where individuality was strictly prohibited. Where privacy is considered a luxury, reserved only for the most powerful people. Where relationships, of any sort, are approved or denied by an almighty government entity known simply as, "The Eye"
The world has become one, giant machine made of man. Each person has a job. A sole function that contributes to society as a whole...or so you're told.
As you work on your daily, repetitive tasks, you are allowed to view a single news station, owned by the government, that babbles day in and day out about your government's strength, about the evil and ruthlessness of other countries, and about your brave military soldiers and their successful campaigns.
Looming above every major settlement are "Reintegration Towers" where people who stray from their "patriotism and duty" go to be counseled. No one knows what happens to those who are counseled but what everyone does know, is that most never return.
What the government can't control...is the mind. Special people, with unique minds, are beginning to find each other in their dreams. Through their subconscious, they are able to live the lives that their hearts desire, that their minds yearn for.
On this day, however, in the building of a major printing press, people are being lined up and interrogated. An office employee, who some of you have worked along side of for years, has now revealed himself as a government agent. In his hand he's holding a crumpled piece of paper, with the words of a "traitor" written within. Someone is guilty, and they WILL find out who it is..
Dear Stranger..
In this dark and polluted world I find myself longing for your embrace. This world... this...consciousness. A true torment that no one can truly describe. Hour after hour, day after day, I trudge through the relentless march of politics and industry. Art and Culture have faded away and have since been narrowed to the simple touch... of ink on paper. Of strokes on a keyboard. Of gear on gear as this figurative clock which has become our lives mercilessly ticks away....until we die.
Tick....
Tick....
Tick....
...and we work. We work to keep ourselves from hunger, or thirst. We work to keep our families safe from the men with iron fists.
But I tell you, stranger....I hunger. And oh yes I thirst. I hunger for the colors in my dreams. I thirst for the horrors in my nightmares, for even they hold more life than this world.
My dreams. My sleep. Is the only escape from this torment. Every night I am greeted by a familiar face. A doorkeeper, if you will. He looks upon me with pity and opens the door to my dreams, ushering me through....
And I am free... I am free to color... To build... To sing... To dance... To love...
My mother is there, every time. She tends to the crops of my creations. She sits with me as I talk with her. She reaches for me, but I cannot feel her... She speaks to me, but I cannot hear.....but she smiles. Her smile allows me to feel my soul once more.
And then there's you, Stranger. You come in many forms. Man, Woman, Girl, Boy....but you always seem lost. Eventually we see each other, and I swear that you are real. Occasionally, I've heard you speak, but I can never remember your face. I am excited to see you, but also saddened. Because I know that I am about to awaken, back into the darkness. I don't reach out to you anymore, Stranger, because you always seem to vanish. And when you do, my dream crumbles away, and just like that.....it's over.
With tears in my eyes I drag myself through my morning routine... Every morning as I look into my bathroom mirror, tightening the tie around my neck and adjusting the cuffs on my freshly tailored coat, I consider ending it all...
but then.....what would happen to my dreams?
)Consider a world where individuality was strictly prohibited. Where privacy is considered a luxury, reserved only for the most powerful people. Where relationships, of any sort, are approved or denied by an almighty government entity known simply as, "The Eye"
The world has become one, giant machine made of man. Each person has a job. A sole function that contributes to society as a whole...or so you're told.
As you work on your daily, repetitive tasks, you are allowed to view a single news station, owned by the government, that babbles day in and day out about your government's strength, about the evil and ruthlessness of other countries, and about your brave military soldiers and their successful campaigns.
Looming above every major settlement are "Reintegration Towers" where people who stray from their "patriotism and duty" go to be counseled. No one knows what happens to those who are counseled but what everyone does know, is that most never return.
What the government can't control...is the mind. Special people, with unique minds, are beginning to find each other in their dreams. Through their subconscious, they are able to live the lives that their hearts desire, that their minds yearn for.
On this day, however, in the building of a major printing press, people are being lined up and interrogated. An office employee, who some of you have worked along side of for years, has now revealed himself as a government agent. In his hand he's holding a crumpled piece of paper, with the words of a "traitor" written within. Someone is guilty, and they WILL find out who it is..
Dear Stranger..
In this dark and polluted world I find myself longing for your embrace. This world... this...consciousness. A true torment that no one can truly describe. Hour after hour, day after day, I trudge through the relentless march of politics and industry. Art and Culture have faded away and have since been narrowed to the simple touch... of ink on paper. Of strokes on a keyboard. Of gear on gear as this figurative clock which has become our lives mercilessly ticks away....until we die.
Tick....
Tick....
Tick....
...and we work. We work to keep ourselves from hunger, or thirst. We work to keep our families safe from the men with iron fists.
But I tell you, stranger....I hunger. And oh yes I thirst. I hunger for the colors in my dreams. I thirst for the horrors in my nightmares, for even they hold more life than this world.
My dreams. My sleep. Is the only escape from this torment. Every night I am greeted by a familiar face. A doorkeeper, if you will. He looks upon me with pity and opens the door to my dreams, ushering me through....
And I am free... I am free to color... To build... To sing... To dance... To love...
My mother is there, every time. She tends to the crops of my creations. She sits with me as I talk with her. She reaches for me, but I cannot feel her... She speaks to me, but I cannot hear.....but she smiles. Her smile allows me to feel my soul once more.
And then there's you, Stranger. You come in many forms. Man, Woman, Girl, Boy....but you always seem lost. Eventually we see each other, and I swear that you are real. Occasionally, I've heard you speak, but I can never remember your face. I am excited to see you, but also saddened. Because I know that I am about to awaken, back into the darkness. I don't reach out to you anymore, Stranger, because you always seem to vanish. And when you do, my dream crumbles away, and just like that.....it's over.
With tears in my eyes I drag myself through my morning routine... Every morning as I look into my bathroom mirror, tightening the tie around my neck and adjusting the cuffs on my freshly tailored coat, I consider ending it all...
but then.....what would happen to my dreams?
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