I had a dream April 24, 2007Posted by BiB in Uncategorized.
Or I might have been awake, actually. Lying in bed. Tossing and turning. Envying my utterly somniac other half. And then it came to me in a flash.
I think it’s the lovely Ben wot started it with his mentioning of a dystopian time to come. And then I was awash in nightmare visions (though I can’t see very well in the dark), imagining a hellish future with strict social stratification, where the haves and have-nots were further apart than ever but all with a twist. There was still a place for a social justice of sorts. But once you’d been categorised, by the social fashion police that will be, you were there for ever. Not even a pretence of a glass ceiling. No, a rock-hard, reinforced, ten-metre-thick concrete ceiling without even a spy-hole to peep through to see how the other strata live.
Of course I was right at the bottom of the pile, shuffling to get comfortable with all the other undesirables.
But why should I have been there especially? I mean, was I not as deserving of a place at the top, or at least not at the bottom, as whichever types it was frothing around up there? But, remember, this social-justice-of-sorts had no moral angle. I could think I’d been as good as the next man as much as I liked. It didn’t matter a fig if I’d helped little old ladies across the road, tipped generously, watered my local tree in a drought, put in my tax declarations on time. No. I’d been declared a loser. I’d be at the bottom. Swimming in the opprobrium heaped upon me by the winners above.
And don’t you get all smug thinking you’ll be one of the finger-pointers. You’re all coming with me. In my nightmare world, bloggers will be the lowest of the low.
Which isn’t much good, is it? But I know what got this started as I lay envying my somniac other half. Yes, Ben a bit. But also that wicked combination of random thoughts flying round your head and two utterly incongruous – I hope – images naughtily settling alongside each other for a second in a neurone traffic-jam and daring to fuse and make an idea. I mentally projected my brainwork onto the wall for a minute. It wasn’t pretty. All sorts of nonsense was rushing around. (I reminded myself how much I LOATHE Dali.) (Wanker.) There was an undone tax declaration taking a piggy-back from a topless Russian soldier. An outsized cup of green tea wearing jack-boots was trampling on every bottle of red wine in the world. A snore with a huge nose was giggling at a tosser-&-turner. Guilt personified, with a tattoo reading ‘conscience’ emblazoned across every centimetre of visible flesh, chased fleeing hordes. German grammar tables sat gathering dust in an unkempt corner. Creditors with visibly empty wallets begged for food. I walked past them into a restaurant serving deep-fried decadence. But the most pernicious vision of all snuck up just as the projector was about to switch itself off thanks to a well-timed neuronal power-cut. A blogger sat tapping away at his computer. Casually, a group of Cyrillic letters sidled up with Slavic swagger. The Б was the leader. They made no sense. But then arranged themsleves mercilessly. Б-О-Т-А-Н-И-К. The Б planted flowers round the blogger. The blogger threw them aside but he was no match for the Н and К, whose spindly, thorny limbs had them back in place in no time until the blogger’s blogging window was just the same Cyrillic letters over and over again. B-O-T-A-N-I-K. Botanist. Russian for nerd.
The shock of it. In all likelihood, I tossed and turned a bit further till it got light, the cock crowed and I could get on with living in my daytime fantasy world where bloggers are cool, where we are the future, a future where we won’t be laughed and pointed at by accountants, mass-murderers and pop-stars.
But, darlings, we’re not mega-nerds, are we? I’ve been shaken to my blogging core.