“Freedom” said The Doctor, “is the attainment of The Past as a resource. What came before was your confusion, your hurt, lashing out.”
He looked his new companion over, appraising them. They felt unnerved, patronised.
“You’ll figure it out.” he said, “Then we’ll be ready.”
“Ready to be a team.”
“We save Earth.”
The Doctor frowned. “I’ve done it once or twice before, you know. Even saved a whole solar system of Earths.”
“There’s no such thing!”
The Doctor smiled. “That’s what you think, is it?”
He set the controls and The Tardis came fully alive.
When a species overcomes the reactionary stage, when they begin to understand their own stories, they become members of The Alliance, which opens the gates to The Future and the free use of Time itself.
Picture a polished wooden floor, dark as mahogany, absent of furniture, in a large room with a bay window. You begin to look at the thick, imperfect glass, when a white door opens at the far side of the room. The man entering the room has a name. We’ll call him Michael. Michael closes the door and sees a large plain-looking box on the floor. He approaches it, noticing now an ever so faint humming sound. He puts his ear to the box. A quiet but harsh buzzing behind the hum, as if the box contains a billion furious generals. Straining to pick out more, he eventually discerns the unpatterned clashing of what could be swords on shields or tuneless cymbals.
Michael presses his ear to the box, a finger in the other ear. A barely audible succession of high pitched short shrieks. He pulls back instinctively. He sees for the first time that the sides of the box do not meet perfectly, and from thin spaces between uneven joins.. the faint glow of a smoky red light. There are now clear cries of distress from inside.
Michael decides this is a very dangerous box and he should sit on it to prevent any of its terrible contents from escaping. When he has been sitting on the box for a good hour, a small demon nonetheless wriggles free. It flies around his head mischievously, poking him with its tiny but sharp trident, evading his attempts to catch it or swat it away. After one fruitless lunge, he hears the demon deep inside his ear, loud and true.
“You are the box” it says. The terrors that Michael feared swarm around his head, mocking, hissing, howling at him. Hideously aged and scarred faces; bloodthirsty battalions of the disaffected, in black uniforms, scything down homely couples and drifters alike; a girl begging him desperately to rescue her. When the bullet strikes, her face disappears and for a frozen moment a miraculous crested wave of dark liquid hangs in the air, then time returns with a sickening splash upon the pavement. He sees a hungry man eating from a day old dog corpse with his bare hands. He sees wretches flayed alive on the orders of a holy man. He sees and he sees, countless images of death. And he hears every sound. Worst of all, his own face before him, screaming wildly, although he himself can only watch, his lips unparted.
The box was an illusion. All the evils of the world are unrestrained, dancing before him, and he cannot look away. His visions coalesce; they whirl about him and, then, they enter him through his ears, eyes, nose, and mouth. Soon, the man conquered,all is still, and there is no longer anything of note in the room.
A white door opens, and Gabriel enters the room. He sees a plain-looking box. As he walks across the polished wooden floor he can make out a faint hum…
If you were Gabriel, would you sit on the box?
Imagine division to a new order meant you were a protest singer. I can laugh about antichrist now, relax and let your mind float on down the stream… It is not dying. Get out of the new one if you can’t lend a hanD – in the beginning. Don’t ask for mine. GOT TO GET YOU INTO MY LIFE…
“Think tanks should take drugs”.Fixing a hole. What have we learned? Consent. Feminism. The rest is beyond your command.
And as the old road rapidly fades, peel back the woodchip, Idiot Wind. Don’t ask for mine. I’d Love To Turn You On.
Broken bicycle and abandoned station. In the beginning…
A young man from outside the golden gates of the Shining City stole a purse. His people refused to give him up.
“You want him so you can dispense your justice. We will be happy to give him to you when you return all that has been stolen from us.” said an Elder.
“Two wrongs don’t make a right.” said an angry man with a flushed face, wagging his finger.
“Two!” replied the Elder. He turned to look at the lands beyond the gates. “Can you return the dead to life?”
“Of course not!” said the angry man. “We are addressing your concerns.” His face relaxed. “You understand there is a lot of paperwork to be done.”
“When justice is understood, we all shall have it.” said the Elder, walking away.
We all know what happened next.
Does anyone know what justice is? It surely isn’t blame. Punishment based on individual responsibility for individual actions is injustice, denying history and science. Yet if we could untangle all the forces responsible for an action we would surely end up at the big bang.
Do we have a deep need for punitive reparative justice that cannot be unseated? Do we need lies about justice to live and if so is this sustainable in the future? Is it not an infinite injustice to deprive anyone of liberty? Can suffering be audited?
I desire to understand justice. I have witnessed the depths of depravity and communed with gods. I have thrown inhabited planets into stars. I have set loved ones on fire and marvelled at the beauty. Guilt has eaten away at my flesh.
I especially want to know because my ego was in that purse.