An Ideal Dystopia

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These days what’s the most we can realistically hope for but some form of ideal dystopia.
Perhaps an isolated bunker in a distant land deep beneath the surface fitted with all the conveniences that seem so essential, naturally.
We could sleep safe and soundly there and dream plastic dreams of our synthetic future as we transform into angelic androids, with our skins like vinyl that hisses and crackles when we touch, superficially smooth yet as we press harder we discover contours and grooves that activate sensations far forgotten within the soul.
We long for a fine and private place but there is none to speak of so we sneak into what passes for a sacred grove, dedicated to some degenerate local deity with one glass eye and undoubtedly an unappeasable taste for tidy hookers and neat gin.
In this dimly lit ersatz arbour made of rusting metal and fake bamboo hemmed in by tarnished mirrors we talk:
of replicants;
of organisms that ceaselessly duplicate;
of the next eagerly anticipated catastrophe;
of death and destruction as the ultimate spectator sport;
of the serenity to be found in surrendering to the spooked spiralling logic of paranoia;
of nightclubbing and nightcrawling;
of nocturnal emissions;
of the vicious inanity of Incubi and Succubi;
of the Latter Days of the Fourth Decadency;
of a corrosive inertia;
of ennui and entrophy;
of containment and contagion;
of chance encounters and happy accidents that lead to inevitable happy endings;
of the cellar door in The Very Heaven Heavenly Hotel;
of protean cult leaders;
of clairvoyant photographers;
of a vanishing star of stage and screen;
of wandering infra dig soldiers lost in the twilighting border zone;
of standing on the threshold of a room;
of skipping a vital slowed down sleazy beat;
of nonsensical impulses and randomly compelling whims;
of waylaid emotion and contaminated intimacy;
of perverse attractions;
of dream homes and heartache;
of love and sleep.

26 thoughts on “An Ideal Dystopia

    1. Thank you JT. I have a fondness for baroque phrasing, which creative writing courses always say is the worst sin possible. But fashions change. As for the characters I live with them daily in my imagination.

      Liked by 1 person

  1. “Love and sleep” the two human essentials that our search and need for, measure our sanity.
    Ultimately the rest can be foregone; but no love or sleep, ever, well it’s just unthinkable.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you very much. It occurred to me that nobody in a dystopian book or movie initially realises they are in a dystopia, that realisation only dawns on them later. So really at this stage of the game an ideal dystopia is the most we can hope for. And make the best of it. Glad you enjoyed!

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Indeed, the horrifying reality eventually becomes clear. To pass the time I’ve been making a cat-themed latch hook rug, reading, writing, and watching movies. All alone with my cat. 😀 Could be worse.

        Liked by 1 person

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