other stuff


Does Poetry Have A Place In Modern Society?

It is a year and a day now. A year and a day since I became a free man. It is amusing to me to think that in olden days, a year and a day was the period of time that a serf needed to become a free man. I have not that luxury. The past year has been the most difficult for me however it has been my happiest. I have perhaps started on the wrong foot, let me start at the beginning just over a year ago.

The year is the 100th year of the Third Reich. The world is still at war, starting and stopping in spurts of violence. It is a hundred years since Der Führer beat the English into submission. Over the next five years Hitler had created enough “Lebensraum” for the master race. In the process millions had escaped to the last two strongholds left in the world, the U.S.S.R. and the U.S.A. For the past 100 years the motherland, the beloved Deutschland had control over all of Europe and Africa. The U.S.A. and the U.S.S.R. had at first signed peace treaties, however the ever-present tension at times turned into bloody and violent conflict.

Under the new order, all of Europe and Africa seemed at peace and was prospering or so the public broadcasts would inform us. Within two years the Gestapo had burned all books objectionable to Der Führer’s wishes. Most of the classic literature had disappeared from all countries. All major pieces of art had been transferred to the palace in Berlin, although the collection has never been complete due to the missing paintings from The Louvre, which had never been found.

Every method of the media was controlled by the P.I.S., the Public Information Service. Television, radio and newspapers all contained only the
news that the the P.I.S. thought patriotic and not damaging to the Reich. As a result people were brainwashed, their minds numb, submissive. Rebellions had been crushed to dust within days of their begginning, if they had been lucky enough to start. History before the Third Reich had become vague as documents had been destroyed or no public access was available.

The internet had become a new method for the “One Party” to spread their beliefs. Although Russia and the U.S. had recently been allowed to join the internet, during a short relaxation of arms for ten years, there was quite obviously a barrier, a perfect replica of the one along the border between the U.S.S.R and the United European and African States. The Americas and Russia had their own network which was supposed to be slower and more primitive than the exalted German-invented one. There was little contact between the two sides as nobody from the allied side was allowed past that virtual wall.

Here was were I met Bluebird for the first time. I was looking at the products in the virtual clothes shop, most of which bore the schwatztica or the ever-popular motif of Adolf Hitler’s face, the founder of our society. I was standing looking around when a small bluebird landed on my shoulder. This was abnormal as the simulation of a shop normally did not contain simulated fauna. More to my surprise was the fact that the bluebird started to whisper in my ear. I realised that it was a sim, a real person’s representation in the virtual reality space of the net.

He asked me to go to another simulation. When I arrived the bluebird was already there. The bird grew and transformed into a man dressed all in blue. He introduced himself as “Bluebird” and a friend. He told me that he was from America and had hacked into the Reichland’s network. After surveying me for some time, he had decided that I was not a loyal citizen of the Empire ruled by Der Fu?hrer. For this reason he was willing to reveal to me the truth about the world. He pointed me to a site on the other side of the barrier. At first afraid of being caught he lead me through the defenses.

As I entered the other side, I was amazed by the scene of colour and beauty. When we arrived at our destination, he provided me with files on history, literature and poetry. My mind for the first time was awakened and the shackles of Nazi propaganda were thrown off.

I spent a month reading the files, which I had downloaded to my home system. I felt increasingly oppressed as I learnt the truth. But it was the poetry that struck a chord in my heart. It gave me hope, a hope for freedom. Within another week I had made my decision.

After a few days arranging my plan, packing my bags with the few essentials that I needed, I started my journey, travelling through countryside after countryside. I wrote my own poetry spreading it through the net and around the towns that I visited.

A year has passed and my journey nearly finished. As I sit beside my campfire watching a news report on the various rebellions and revolutions taking place in the aftermath of my pathway. The news caster reports “The cause of this new spurt of uprisings is due to enemy infiltration.” In a way it is true. I smile. I know the true reason, the people have been awakened. Poetry has pierced their heart, planting a desire for freedom.

The Empire is starting to crack and the allies will soon overcome the wall ending their siege and our opression forever. It is strange to me that one person’s poetry could cause such a revolution but such is the power of poetry and the imagination. I will reach the wall within a week, then I will climb to freedom, to freedom and happiness. My poetry will spread, digging deep in people’s hearts and they will also start climbing through the decrepitude of oppression to the pinacle of Mount Freedom. My crusade proves the Nazi’s belief that poetry was dangerous and happy am I to have poetry its rightful place in modern society.