In the dutiful republic we practice our smiles on our uncomplaining mirrors, hold our hands tight over our minds, say only the wrong right things. We concentrate, now, on being public beings; we view that which infests us. Which simulation are we, today?
Know not how to think,
(contrasting views of responsible spokespersons
{who are however subject to the same illusions as those
whose views do not contrast}
are welcome)
but what. I pelvis to the Leader’s TV’d motions, pretend his tongue is moist and tight inside my ear.
In the light we are dutiful; but at night we gather quietly in the home of one or another, cover windows with dark cloth, power-up the peering-machine, watch the Leader address his people. We rub in rhythm against the cold tube. We Tivo it over and over until we can time our brutal movements to the cadence of anointed speech with exquisite and exhausting precision.
There is no pounding at the door tonight because doors are now forbidden.
The mirrors – the mirrors have stopped reflecting us
<END>
THE PITCH
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See you tomorrow! Whatever happens here, you won’t be expecting it.
Memorable Fancies 
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