The winds of change..
(begun Monday 21st April at 4.52am)

I speak of the unspeakable. I write of things best left unmentioned, and you find it easier to regard me as an attention-seeking lunatic, and to turn your heads away at my perceived negativity?
What little you know.
I have in fact come to regard myself as more fortunate than most in many ways, despite the appalling position I'm in. How could you possibly understand what it was like to be rescued from my mean and self-absorbed life, and to experience at least some of the wonders of this world-wide Experiment?
To be forced from my mundane existence into going out and meeting people, in an effort to find answers to the mystery that had arrived here in 2005..
People whom I'd never have met otherwise..

I sit here at the desk and struggle mightily to put into words just how grateful I am right now, despite the burning itch currently being administered to my cancer, and the muscles twitching endlessly in my leg.
The latter would appear to be my Master's latest party-trick, and will be due no doubt to the diligent efforts of the Graveyard Shift Monitors as they jab away at my body while I snore.. I'm well aware that those dancing spasms could turn into a massive charlie-horse in seconds, and that the sight of this ancient labrat flailing about to escape the pain would amuse the more crass among the quantum recruits who were present at the time...

That's pretty much what it's all about, not so? Entertainment to while away the boring hours of monitoring? Small, cruel amusements, designed to chip away at the moral integrity of every last Recruit, to create a soulless, heaving army, easily controlled by a single force...
I've been privileged to stand on the side-lines and watch as the very best of you get sucked up by this maelstrom of manipulation and lies..
To watch in open-mouthed awe as you silently allow MacLeod to pump his grey water into homes everywhere, and to run millions of litres of precious water into the streets, while his colleague Allen Spence fills the air with unregulated wireless frequencies, and hands control of your power supplies to unqualified Recruits to manage.

Though at times I gnash my yellowed stumps at my own inability to provide a coherent account of the efforts being made to enslave us all, I consider myself lucky to have survived long enough to witness this technological masterpiece...The inexplicable and invisible funnels of wind that hit me as I sit out on the verandah, and in my TV chair, or even in the bath, are truly magical, never mind the thick clouds of gold dust particles that surround my camera's flash after dark.
The smoky (sp) air that clusters about the outdoor lights at night is most certainly not created by some nearby bush-dweller, and has been captured by suitably surprised amateur photographers around the globe, myself included.

It's beyond my capability to explain why, after all these pain-filled years, I continue to be drawn to the rubbish next door, and to regard him fondly as my Owner.
The near-desperate measures taken by the authorities the year before last, to draw attention from their prized Smart City Entertainment Manager/Tutor, have failed miserably, and the fellow controls my life now, as much as he ever did, albeit that more often than not, he orders his willing stooges to administer the blows...

I'd staggered up the top stairs at mid-morning yesterday to collect my gardening tools, and had found my Master standing on the pavement opposite the ChickenCoop, holding forth to the owner of the Namibian registered bakkie. I'd waved wildly, but there'd been no smiles in return, and the cheesy mask of amiability that he dons for the GameWrecker's benefit were glaringly absent.
Am I angry or upset that he would be rid of me after all this time? That he considers I've outlived my part as the Fool in this local production of the Experiment?
*At this point a puff of the artificially created wind caresses me here at the desk..*
Seriously? No. Though you'll have to forgive me for taking a certain amount of offence at the means he's resorted to employing, in his attempts to obliterate his old toy...

Had I hoped that he would man-up when the time came, and that he would personally administer the final blow? Turns out he hasn't the balls for it, and the likelihood that I'm to end as just another casualty in this carefully organised crime tsunami, becomes more apparent each day.
Ask yourselves how those three intruders last Thursday knew that Penny couldn't hear the noise they'd made, over the roar of the vacuum? How their timing could have been quite so perfect, and that it had only been due to young Cola's habit of sitting inside the kitchen door, watching for my return, that had finally alerted her in time to activate the alarm..

Why was my Controller still at home after we'd left in the Polo, when this has not been the case on previous Thursdays? Reasonable doubt, folks.. *another weird puff of artifical wind reminds me that I must feed the birds and bathe* Would the Visitors stay my execution? It's highly unlikely they're even aware of my existence, so no, there'll be no intervention from that quarter.
Still and all, in my incorrigible dumbness, I continue to hope for a miracle.. I've survived this long, against all the odds, and who knows but that my Paingiver will be persuaded to relent and to accept that we're joined at the hip for eternity.
Did YOU see those oinkers flying by across the horizon?
Peace..

---oOo---

Monday 21st April 2014 at 8am.