I’ll tell you all a dire and grisly tale
Of one who strayed so far beyond the pale,
Annihilated in an ocean swell,
Dragging down many with him as he fell –
Poor Billy: he’s the hero in my charge ,
And represents humanity at large,
The product of a world grown over-ripe,
Walking computer, blank stereotype.
Born in a deviant family, made good,
He passed through adolescence to manhood
Growing hard-masked in cold reserve and pride –
Perhaps brought on by Father’s suicide
(A jar of sleeping-pills, a nagging wife
And utter boredom finished off his life.)
***
Our Billy kept upon an even keel:
Clutched on to everything he knew for real;
He found his niche, and carved out his career,
Became a fine computer engineer.
But let us not forget the other side
Of him, the heart and soul which he would hide
From most who met him – there was one who played
Long childhood games with him, a comely maid
Called Sarah – quite intelligent, morose
Perhaps she was, but deep inside quite close
To all of Billy’s moods and aspirations
(She even had the same qualifications).
Of technocracy those two were the cream –
A turned-on, functioning, programming team.
Obeying a determinant causality:
They were disciples of the New Morality,
Eschewed engagement, full cohabitation,
For both the creed – free experimentation!
Duplicity a cornerstone of pride:
All things to be discussed, and none to hide.
Bill held to his set paths with deep devotion,
And climbed a run or two towards promotion.
His partner did the same (or so it seemed,
But secretly, vindictively she schemed –
Sweet Sarah seethed within her parallel path:
Equal in skill, inferior in right:
“I do the backroom work; you have limelight!”
But at the same time, her cold steely eyes
With coating of brute greed did pressurise
His bending to her every desire
To pile her heap of creature-comforts higher.
She overplayed him, caused him loss of face,
The start of dissipation and disgrace.
She brought about the deepest consternation
By forcing a dramatic confrontation:
Her former reticence she did surmount,
And called inadequacies to account:
“You drive me like a horse along life’s road,
You haven’t made us a secure abode;
You might as well have stretched me on a rack;
It’s over now: there’ll be no going back!
All love has worn away; life’s not so sweet –
I’ll make it by myself; now own two feet
Are quite enough to carry me along . . .”
“But darling: What is it that I’ve done wrong?”
“Don’t look at me with that angelic stare!
You never showed the slightest sign of care,
Took me for granted, never gave a damn!”
She grabbed her suitcase, gave the door a slam;
Her footsteps clattered down the corridor;
Bill felt he wouldn’t see her any more.
He’d seen this coming, knew that he could take
It, felt no pain, but rather a dull ache.
He tried to shut out thoughts of might-have-beens,
And pushed himself back to his old routines
Which gave him some emotional releases
Until his work began to go to pieces;
He didn’t crack; he never even cried,
But his computer errors multiplied.
He lost his nerve; thereafter – just to lose
Anxieties, he got absorbed in booze
And gambling, tawdry night-club conversation.
He drove himself into pure desolation –
Turned up at work, to find himself disgraced,
But in a manner most discreet: replaced.
He walked towards his customary chair
To find somebody else was sitting there.
His boss, for consolation most concerned,
Told him his Pension Fund could be returned,
With never-bending smile bade Bill good day,
And out he went, to roam his empty way.
He braced himself, suppressed his bitter tears –
Dived in the nearest bar, downed a few beers
Then topped his drunken stupor with some port
And lemon – noticed cash was running short –
So, feeling heady, by no means replete
Proceeded down a long and busy street,
Had miscellaneous chats with passers-by,
Began to ask the deeper questions – why
Had all the world around him run amok?
For he believed in reason, not in luck,
But thought perhaps something might him console
And extricate him from this frightful hole
In which he floundered, in his direst need:
Some positive solution – yes, a creed
To offer him some message of direction
(While leaving quite intact his circumspection).
He was drawn in by the seductive call
Of a dilapidated Chapel Hall
Wherein some ceremonious incantations
Moaned forth, suggesting bizarre celebrations.
He peeped in – saw the glorious resplendence:
A séance of Quintessential Transcendence!
He once had parted with some well-earned cash,
Sweetly accosted by a slender girl
Who sold a tract, a mystic ersatz pearl
And gave him every wish for inner peace,
For every tension ultimate release.
***
Bill joined in the proceedings with a grin
Until subtle hypnosis sucked him in,
Absorbed him in its gestures and its dance
Until he lost his grip, went in a trance,
Shrieked forth blank incantations, ceased to pray –
Then he was hi-jacked, spirited away
To an Eighteenth-Century mansion, new converted
For practice of experiments perverted;
A mass of splendid chambers, all so big
They made Bill feel just like a guinea-pig.
Some gentlemen in black velvet were there,
Ushered him to a comfortable chair,
Brought out some scotch and cigars (they were bland);
One offered him a clammy, welcoming hand
In keeping with the menace in his leer,
Then Billy said “What am I doing here?”
The host took a deep, penetrating breath,
Assumed a gesture between life and death:
“Life sometime serves us up some bitter fruits:
We’d like to trace your problems to their roots.
We are aware of some things you have lost,
But deprivation may just be the cost
Of greater gain at a far deeper level
(I may sound like a spokesman for the Devil).
Now, find your equilibrium, be reflective,
See all your problems in their full perspective:
You’ve undergone all that you have most dreaded;
Now you’ll begin to feel more level-headed.
You’re a Survivor, haloed like a martyr
And in your depths stronger than any Tartar
Who brought about material undoing,
Made himself rich and strong, just by his screwing
Of people such as you, yes: you – whose life
May have been bound to him, as to your wife.
“Now you are free, you stand – a shaft of light
For all computers’ slaves in their dark night!
We were quite pleased with your participation
In our last séance, for initiation
Into our inner circle; for the next
By very few problems you will be vexed.
Save one trial by ordeal; near to death
You’ll feel at first; but then, with bated breath
We here shall hang on to your every word
(They will be true, though they may sound absurd)
And, for the first time since your very birth
You’ll be convinced that you’re a God on Earth;
Please come this way . . .”
he beckoned Bill and led
Him to a torture-chamber, where Bill bled
From knife-cuts; he was bruised, he felt dissected:
This wasn’t quite the thing he had expected.
His torturers, when done, looked quite delighted;
Into the dining room Bill was invited.
Swathed in a black robe, blinded by the sun
All he could say was “Christ! What have you done?”
“It’s not a case of what we’ve done to you.
But you for us, and if that statement’s too
Ambiguous for you to comprehend
Just now, you’ll find it clearer in the end.
You the initiate, proud initiator
And of our fortunes you’re the chief creator –
Since everything you do will be broadcast
On a scale so comprehensive and so vast,
Oceans of tears for you will soon be spilt,
You – symbol of mankind’s Collective guilt.
“Some will aspire to enact kindred roles,
Feel guilty about selling their dear souls;
In millions they’ll be on their knees to pray
And cast their filthy worldly wealth away:
See them, materialism overthrowing,
And then see us, our coffers overflowing!
You’ll have your share; it will be held in trust
It will be yours when you’ve done what you must.”
“What will that be?” “For seven days and nights
We’ll have a session with the acolytes
And, at the end, a little celebration
To show how we procure mankind’s salvation.
It’s going to hit the world like peals of thunder:
Those new-found souls will cry “We’ll not go under!”
They’ll all swig the communal poisoned beverage
And as they rise, they’ll shout – ‘We are not average!
We’ll not succumb to others; we are names!
Our sacrifice saves man from his own games.’
“Oh gnash of teeth; Oh upturn of the belly;
And everything will be put on the tellie:
You’ll feel great pains like death-throes – if you doubt
The value of all this, there’s a way out
For you: you will survive the tribulation –
Of rigor mortis there’ll be simulation;
You’ll go into a coma, then revive,
Come right into your own – supreme, alive.
For you, dear chap, the pretence will be over –
All your declining years you’ll spend in clover.
Of luxury retirement the beginnings
Assured for you, with your cut of the winnings.”
Bill readily agreed to be their tool
Because they didn’t take him for a fool –
A 162 IQ, surely no dumbo!
He wasn’t taken in by mumbo-jumbo.
As part of his routine he’d take this chore;
He’d suffered thrice – he’d surely suffer more.
So, in the sylvan grounds of that graced palace
He took a primal gulp from the great chalice,
Then passed it round, reciting magic spells
From The Book of the Dead, The Book of Kells,
Or other esoterics he remembered –
But then he felt himself being dismembered
From gut to bone, and every nerve-thread rent.
Then he could take no more, and down he went.
***
Now, things for the Society were sunny;
They didn’t really need the extra money;
Already they were gutted stiff with treasure,
So took delight in pure sadistic pleasure
(Although subscriptions rained on them with force,
They were received as pure matters of course.)
After a fortnight’s slumber, Bill awoke –
What had he just been through? A dream – a joke?
His bed was sift, though wounds still felt quite tender,
Around him there was luxury and splendour –
Of velvet, teak, or gold and porcelain,
Which simply compensated for his pain.
A nurse opened the windows, let in air,
Brought a black uniform for him to wear.
He rose, made himself suitably attired –
A bell rang, for his presence was required;
He made his way into the Conference Room –
By day swathed in a cold, nocturnal gloom.
The leader faced him with a cordial grin,
Held forth once more (Bill’s head began to spin):
“Effectively you’ve taken every vow;
You’re a society Director now;
All of your life will soon be an effulgence
Of sweet retirement, total self-indulgence’
It’s only through your choice things will be hard
For you: you’re going to have a bodyguard.
Make a public address once in a while
The myriad population to beguile;
For strenuous effort from you there’s no need:
We’ll fabricate your every word and deed.
Behind the scenes, however, there’s a chair
Upon the Board for you; you’ll have a share,
A say, a vote, a right at every session –
Participation at your own discretion.
***
Bought off, sucked in by power was our Bill;
He felt he’d had a ‘Triumph of the Will’ –
But at this point the sad truth must be stated:
He was with subtlety manipulated.
In his new world he found a great attraction
In elevated new job satisfaction.
Now to himself he made his own commands,
Computer-wise articulate demands
Within the confines of his gilded cage,
Make the Society keep up with the age
It lived in, even though perhaps a freak
Or two might treat it as something antique.
It must be modern in its frame of reference,
Then, in the future, all would pay it deference;
Subscriptions, whether modest, huge or minimal
Were all elicited by means subliminal;
With his new status Billy was exultant –
A spiritual (and financial) consultant!
II
Sarah heard all that went on, couldn’t fail,
She saw the TV, read the papers, had mail;
Now retrospective feelings hit her hard:
It was partly her doing, she felt scarred,
Inside her, guilt she found with no dilution,
But brought herself to no self-retribution –
Rather to a burning, vindictive zest
For those that killed the one she still loved best.
She hounded the society with persistence,
Soon overcame evasions and resistance,
Yes: forced a conference with its big leader
(Followed at every step by a Newsreader).
With steely eyes she turned to face her Bill
(And they both gave each other quite a chill!)
She, with her righteous anger fiercely boiling,
He – from the onslaught shakily recoiling.
Then rapidly recovering his cool –
This time she wouldn’t make him look a fool:
“I see through you, you slob – we’re face to face,
Now I damn you to save the Human Race!
You must have realised for quite a time
You’re helping perpetrate the biggest crime
That ever held poor people in its clutches.
You got to where you are upon my crutches –
Don’t you forget it; but I must appeal
To what humanity’s left in you, feel
Some warmth, or some compassion, or some guilt –
Or has that blood of yours all turned to silt?
Now, with my own two eyes I hope I’m seeing
Someone who really is a human being,
Who may relent, bring some decent dilution
To vain ambitions, or face retribution;
Remorse’s mandibles your heart will rend –
Justice will catch up with you in the end.”
“Now Sarah; when you went to extreme lengths
To mess me up, you built my inner strengths’
No more before your judgements do I cower,
Now I’m ensconced in quite a comfy tower;
So please accommodate my present attitude –
Complacency, with just a touch of gratitude.”
With words of venom Sarah pressed attack,
Until the stress her very nerves did crack
And she burst into tears: “I wouldn’t care
If you, whom I once loved, had not been there!
If not for me, I see there is no doubt.
This vile scene would have never come about.
Why must the villain of the piece be you?
Because of me, because I wasn’t true?
I see this tragedy is due to me,
Please take my life, and end my misery!”
She fell in paroxysm on the floor;
(The cameras had been turned off long before);
The leaders by this scene were quite beguiled,
And took to her an attitude quite mild –
Benevolent trusts, fat grants and big donations
Part of their programme for Public Relations –
For lies are much more readily believed
When linked to benefits for the bereaved.
Amidst the pack of lies one thins was true,
She was his next of kin, his widow too
(Though Registry palavers are a bore
Her rights were recognised by Common Law.)
“You get a house from the Society,
Unearned income in perpetuity;
You’re totally set free from the Rat Race,
So now let your potential grow apace!”
Being quite selfish, those comforts she chose
And (just like Bill’s) she found that her heart froze,
As hard and bitterly as either Pole,
Now she’d attained her creature-comfort goal.
From normal mortals she lived quite apart;
She learned up every sport and every art.
She’d no restraint, and gained her greedy ends
Until she noticed that she had no friends.
Her objets d’art filled exhibition halls.
One day she gave a yawn, and said “it palls”,
With emptiness her heart began to bleed;
She knew nobody, had no physical need
She couldn’t satisfy with snap of finger,
No lasting memory on which to linger;
Her wretched life of sated desolation
She spent under perpetual sedation.
III
Now Bill’s state of contentment did not last:
He found that the Society was not fast
Enough to gratify his extreme needs;
He felt the urge for politicians’ creeds
To offer many people a new deal,
He knew his power had to become more real:
In the pure spirit world there was a dearth
Of satisfaction – he’d come down to earth.
A charismatic leader was created
From a nonentity grown quite frustrated
By thwarting of his aims in every sphere –
Well understood by others, but not clear
To him (for he was stupidly conceited)
So his reserve of nerve grew quite depleted.
He weighed things up, then with himself agreed –
A new party could satisfy his need.
At ones of which he knew then, he just balked,
But on a wall he found a slogan chalked:
The New World Order Rules, OK? – a sound
New group this one might be; he looked around
Until he found some leaflets in the gutter:
Office address, phone number, to his utter
Delight and jubilation, both were there,
So to their head office he did repair.
“I’d like to be a member if you please –
But first, tell me about your policies.”
“No; you must do the talking, please be bolder;
What is this chip you have upon your shoulder?”
“Once I was happy, had something to do,
Then a disaster came, cut me in two –
My life was filled with optimistic joy
As ZXY Computers’ blue-eyed boy,
But bosses’ machinations and caprices
Made me redundant, smashed me into pieces –
Or so they tried, thought they’d rend me asunder,
Cast me aside, but I would not go under;
I came to recognise what I resented,
The evil process that they represented –
A vast conglomerate of heinous lies:
Humanity they would dehumanise –
I’ll give my persecutors all the boot,
The parasitic weed I shall uproot!”
At that the Party Comrades clapped their hands:
“We see one who both feels and understands
Before us now, a combination rare!
Think yourself one of us now, we’ll take care
Of one who makes spontaneous oration.
You’ll be our spokesman, OK? We can train
You in the formal skills. We’ll spare no pain
For we can see you in that vital spark
Of life, alleviating mankind’s dark
With passion, gesture, image concentrated,
Like the old Führer, with fire full-inflated.”
From this material, then, they did contrive
A media figure, seeming quite alive;
But for the status quo no bell did toll –
Agents provocateurs were in control.
The party was a front, a thin façade
To trap the troublesome, make a charade
To help the malcontents to be contented
(The powers that be had been misrepresented!)
His grilling, and the shaping of his norm,
Took on a rather old, familiar form.
To a remote training centre he was taken;
He saw the truth – his nerves were badly shaken.
State servants in true colours put him through
The treadmill, there was nothing he could do:
All thoughts of breaking free he’d left too late,
And passively accepted his sad state.
For individuality no frame
Of reference had he – he forgot his name.
The gadgetry was new, the method old –
He was a hostage, did as he was told.
The doctors (snide conspirators) had a plan
To make of him a phoney superman;
They’d throw some false authority in his lap,
For all disasters he could take the rap.
“Now, when the public finds life is a bore
Well give them Press Conferences galore:
You – at their centre, whether booed, applauded
Or just ignored, we’ll have it all recorded;
Whatever’s to your Debit or your Credit
There isn’t anything that we can’t edit.
We’ll give a meaning to your aching void,
Transform it into reels of celluloid.
We’ve got a good ploy, people to derange –
With every shot your features seem to change.
“We governments, anonymous, corrupted,
Can keep our muddle quite uninterrupted –
A happy simmering, bubbling, stinking norm.
One action required of you to conform
To this new role is that you should get rid
Of just one small anomaly in the grid
Which runs the electricity supply
Disrupted – no-one knows the reason why
(Or else Official Secrets kept it mum
Or bureaucrats went mentally quite numb;
In fact some paperwork had gone astray –
One carefully avoids public affray.
In mishaps of this kind, a scapegoat’s better,
Whenever a live wire is a dead letter.”
And so, amidst a mass of sound distortions,
Our Billy performed multiple contortions
Until, within a trice or in a wink
The apparatus came right off the blink.
And Billy’s every action (all recorded)
Made him be universally applauded;
For equilibrium which he brought back
He was commemorated by a plaque
But then informed that his noble success
Was only the first stage in the process:
He’d save the world before it was too late;
They’d elevate him to be Head of State
Where human refuse was to be deposited
(But he in a fine palace would be closeted).
To lure a population there, a con –
A rigged pop festival was then laid on
In Quintessential Transcendence’s name.
The cover worked, the millions duly came,
All with benevolent Police Surveillance,
All known machines provided their conveyance –
Great batteries of speakers, giant amps,
Above them all some powerful arc lamps –
A mass of gadgetry with charm insidious,
Cloak for a stratagem deeply perfidious:
Yes – the real reason for their preparation
Was to induce an organic mutation
In all who came directly in their beams –
The worst of evil, technocratic dreams:
Turn people into Plankton, with them feed
The starving hordes that nearly topped the skies,
Provide them inexhaustible supplies,
Save governments unfit to do their duty –
And, furthermore, it seemed a scene of beauty.
Our Billy wandered in their midst, above
Them like a missionary, preaching love,
Sweet meditation and serene sobriety
Like an initiate of that sick society.
He wandered through the throngs that swamped the place,
Appreciated for his friendly face.
When some were lost in darkness, like a ray
Of friendly sunshine, he fixed their PA,
The sounds belched out full force, did some elate
They danced, while some in mud grovelled, prostrate.
Intravert, extrovert, like a coin to flip,
Each tolerated every other’s trip.
Although it seemed a scene of mass regression
There surely was no obvious aggression:
They got themselves together like a mass
Of lemmings headed for a deep morass,
But with no sense of linear direction
(They were so stoned and stuffed with introspection.)
“All movement must be cyclic,” said the rule,
And so they generated their whirlpool
And helped the arc-lamps find their point of focus –
Mass murder well disguised as hocus-pocus.
Bill many of their happy lives did rob
By calm unknowing twiddling of the knob.
His eyes were opened to the light of day
As to his palace he was borne away,
By creature-comforts and armed guards protected –
His admin duties much as he’d suspected;
Face screens, push knobs, do things much like before,
His life a godlike dream, a sacred chore.
There was a catch: some time he’d pay the price,
Offer himself as human sacrifice
To progress on the State Museum’s altar;
He’d wreck the whole caboodle should he falter.
But further treachery our Bill suspected –
All in his glory, he felt quite dejected;
He might avoid the cruel assassin’s gashes
Only to end his days a pile of ashes,
Disintegration-proof in a glass case,
Sign of the glory of the Human Race –
And just to keep the population quiet
(For otherwise they might be moved to riot,
Beyond all armies’ power to impeach,
Beyond the great mutating arc-lamps’ reach.
Bill felt that ice had been pumped in his veins;
For a split second he felt victims’ pains.
But now, morally paralysed and ambivalent
(For he’d had a Lobotomy equivalent)
Awash on waves of chill annihilation,
Cause and effect of his participation.
In this poor wretch one human vestige stayed –
He had an ego which must be displayed.
The great act, to enshrine his lovely soul –
The arc lamps were all under his control:
He’d beam them. Turn the power stronger, probe –
No-one alive could e’er escape the strobe;
He’d do a deed aesthetic (if perverted)
And make the island once again deserted –
Just as it was before the occupation,
Except for one cataclysmic mutation –
And all its surface break in tiny pieces,
Leaving researchers room for many theses.
Then he, the lone survivor, purged of vice
In killing sinful flesh, would sacrifice
Himself – yes: every human soul set free
And then be worshipped in posterity.
For he would perish in a special flame,
The Human Race would never be the same
When on its mind that image was imprinted.
The form of the finale had been hinted
By the Society’s Public Relations:
Some countries prepared Bill for decorations.
He slowly strode to the appointed plot
Quite punctual (at seven on the dot)
Just as the blood-red sun was slowly setting
(And, for the cameras, didn’t need a vetting.)
Bill raised his arms, turned luminous and white –
There was a crash, a blocking-out of light,
A surging sheet of yellow, white and blue
(Relayed, so everyone could get a view)
Rising so high that all observers started
As if a satellite had just departed.
So all the world could clearly comprehend
Billy, the perfect pawn, right to the end –
Except that through their own Final Solution,
The leaders brought about dire retribution
Upon themselves, there was a chain reaction,
Quite unprescheduled in any transaction
Which the astute Society leaders planned,
For pure Nuclear Physics forced their hand.
That power which wiped out all the human trouble
Also reduced their headquarters to rubble.
Now in mutated gold reserves no trust
Is placed – in other words, they all went bust.
With no facilities for bribes their end
Was near; for now every fair weather friend
With weighty hostile evidence now attested:
All members off the island were arrested.
In his metabolism something strange
Had Billy, and that made the drastic change –
And so the passive pawn, the half-stoned slave
Became one indefatigably brave,
And through his sheer presence managed to queer
The pitch of evil: nobody got near
To that last act among the hardy crowd
Of their integrity and guts so proud,
With their great panacea for the Blues:
Don’t deviate, don’t miss the TV news.
Bill was no pile of ash for all to see,
But whirling neutrons, protons – wholly free,
Ending his futile days of passive strife
Symbol of a supra-organic life.
Dissidents took his memory to heart;
They rediscovered roots, made a fresh start,
While those who wanted life to be more cost
Were reassured that something still was rosy.
At last they’d found a hero worth adoring
When every other memory had grown boring.
Concerning morals, there’ll be no pretences:
We shall be free – we’ll take the consequences.
***
David Russell is a resident of the UK. He writes poetry, literary criticism, speculative fiction, and romance. His poetry includes the collection Prickling Counterpoints (1998); various poems published in online International Times; and the eco-poetry collection An Ever River, published by The Palewell Press, 2018. His speculative works include High Wired On (2002) and Rock Bottom (2005). He translated the Spanish epic La Araucana, Amazon 2013. His romances include Dreamtime Sensuality I & II: Explorations; Further Explorations; Pearlman, Self’s Blossom– all available on Amazon. He self-published a collection of erotic poetry and artwork called Sensual Rhapsody, 2015. David is also a singer-songwriter/guitarist. His main CD albums are Bacteria Shrapnel and Kaleidoscope Concentrate. Many of his tracks can be found on YouTube under “Dave Russell.” He’s the editor of the online magazine Poetry Express Newsletter, produced by Survivors Poetry and Music.
