THE AUTHOR

I am the true artist. The most beautiful, the grandest, the unimaginable…the greatest images flow from my pen. Words are the paint that I dip my brush into. And my canvas, you ask? Why, your mind of course. Swiftly and slyly I slowly intrigue you with a thought, with a question, with an idea. Like a skillful puppet master I make my words dance over the stage of your impressionable mind. And draw you in slowly until I hold your imagination within the palm of my hand. What happens next? That’s for me to decide. Will you feel sadness or outrage or wonder? Will your heart skip a beat in suspense, or will it fill with relief and joy? Nothing pleases me more than to play with your head and leave it squirming in the throes of uncertainty. Responsibility? Perhaps. Power? For sure. In my own story I play God. Who gets to live and who has to die-these are things I have the privilege to choose. After it’s all over, will you be forever changed? This I can’t know for certain. As you turn the last page my power over you ends. But as your eyes travel from word to word and each sentence fills your mind, in these very moments you are completely and inextricably mine.

THE DEATH OF INDIVIDUALITY

I am the Every man. I have no name, no face. I have only thoughts. And these thoughts are not my own. Everyday I roam the streets, just another faceless face in the crowd. The quest for identity has long since ended. Now all that remains is acceptance. I am my own person. But my own person is only who they tell me to be. Nothing escapes the rules of the Collective Consciousness. That which is not understood must be condemned. That which is strange and does not fit the sphere of the normal can only be dangerous. And hence it has no place in the ideal world. Maybe, if we close our eyes and pretend that it does not exist, it will go away. Maybe, if we poke and prod it and drive it to tears it will change for the better and become one of us. We never think about the future. We never question where our mentality is taking us. We do not share foreboding glimpses of turning ourselves into mindless drones driven by voices that belong to us, yet speak a language which is not our own. But we listen. Because it enables us to become part of something that is bigger than ourselves. Uniqueness is an unforgivable crime-nothing but meaningless revolt. It can have only one punishment: Death.