Sunday, 31 July 2011


It's summer.

I can tell. The insects that at the same hour every morning, by tacit habit of unconditional action, fused into a single million-antenna body, burst out their noisy incessant chorus, the dazzling heat, the damp sweat, the unblemished blue sky, the silky clouds. Here everything just stops its motion. Time flows stagnantly. One walks in the narrow street unnoticed, except for the blue sky and the clouds that keep watching and monitoring every of their single action. Nothing but the blue sky - eternity, the utmost evidence that reassures one's existence.

I turned on the hot water, letting it pour into the bath tube. It's quite apparent that I was going to have a bath. Wash myself. Looking down at my own body through the filtering image of the water... it shrank, then burged, shrank, and burged. Washing myself off all the impurities. When it comes to purifying and detoxicating, I'm quite a bigotic moron. A habit that has acquired the status of instinct - sth that must be done before all else, and as deeply ingrained in me as chastity is to the young women who were bigoted adherents of the Communist party.

There are times which I've found out to my deepest astonishment that my existence is nothing but a speck of dust in the air. Sometimes I would feel like a zombie with no notion at all; one without any meaningful assertation for life, any trace leaveable for the future. Anyway, guess everyone is like that. We are but merely a knot in the incessant moving forward thread that connects all existence together, in which the latter would flourish, thrive, and all the more interwoven into one another like a web of spider - and we are inadvertently, irrevocably trapped in that.

Yosh, I will quit smoking as from tomorrow. Sounds like a mission-impossible statement. Yet I'm fully ware that I have to slow down on my consumption of tobacco. The amount of nicotine that enters your lung varies according to how you inhale it, but still, it does enter your lung, more or less, your blood vein, your heart increases its frequency of pumping and thropping, your blood pressure goes high. I have been feeling a breast pain that makes me think that my days are counting down. I need to stop smoking, or at least, smoke less, or else I'll be zombie when i reach 30. Dead cockroach.

Let's think of the more positive way of life. I have been leading a life of contemplativa - I need to acquire more of an active life. How? Learn Russian. pick up words from the book, or learn it through youtube videos. Listen to Russian songs and memorize the lines by hypnopaedia. Go for a walk for about 30 mins. Eat healthily. Hang out with friends more, and be in the nature.

Friday, 29 July 2011







Tuesday, 26 July 2011


В твоих глазах я видел страх,
В моих он тоже был не раз.
Куда тянется наша зима-
Декабрь, январь, февраль...
Долой с глаз,
Белый снег с глаз.
Ответ на смс я долго ждал,
Я ждал твоих ласк,
Но время плавится как воск,
И только пара папирос излечат боль,
Пойми, мне хочется быть с тобой!
Как хочется, чтобы это был просто сон,
Просто сон, но не любовь
Терзала мою душу вновь и вновь
Каждый вздох, каждое слово, каждый сон.
Мне без тебя плохо,
Считаю дни, часы, секунды,
Проведенные с тобою, без тебя...
Мои слова, фразы улетают высоко,
В небо далеко
Я люблю тебя, моя любовь...

Saturday, 23 July 2011


憲法:国家権力を制限し、国民の人権を保障するものー> 国家に対する歯止め
法律:国民の自由を制限し、社会秩序を維持するものー> 国民に対する歯止め





刑事裁判:検察官 被告人
民事裁判:原告 被告









Friday, 22 July 2011

На Берегу Неба

Вот и спрятался день
Вот и вечер затих
Забрав мечты теплом
Кто любовь сохранит
Если сердце молчит
И значит всё прошло

В даль унесённое ветром
Чувство останется где-то
На берегу неба
Тихо к нему прикоснётся
Луч одинокого солнца
На берегу неба

А утром прольётся рассветом
Чувство уснувшее где-то
На берегу неба
Чтобы мы с тобой не забыли
Как друг друга любили
На берегу неба

Замирая в дали
Уплывает мотив любви
На белых островах
Знаешь наша мечта
Этот сон для двоих
Теперь лишь грусть в твоих глазах

В даль унесённое ветром
Чувство останется где-то
На берегу неба
Тихо к нему прикоснётся
Луч одинокого солнца
На берегу неба

А утром прольётся рассветом
Чувство уснувшее где-то
На берегу неба
Чтобы мы с тобой не забыли
Как друг друга любили
На берегу неба


2 Jap reports finished, now subject to teishutsu.

Tasks left:  study the slides for メディア・法・社会 and 国際取引 期末試験
            ビジ日 期末試験(6と7課ー大したもんじゃない)
            「私」プレゼン made the slides alrd so 気分を整えること



なんか溜息 はは けど、私は絶対に負けないぞ 家に帰ったらまた勉強しよ


Wednesday, 20 July 2011

Zachem vse eto?

Thursday - Redemption day!
Zachem vse eto? Now's it gonna be true!

Thursday: Kaiwa shiken w Watanabe - Askew final test
Friday: Submit report 2 for Media-Law class
Saturday: Writing reports for Shibata sensei
Sunday: report (cont.)

Next week

Monday: Go to Oita for sainyuukoku
Wednesday: Final exam for Date sensei
Thursday: [Watashi] presentation
Friday: Final test for Intnl Transaction

Wednesday, 13 July 2011


Finishing reading “We” by Zamyatin, pioneer Russian political satirist, cast me with provoking thoughts about the state of Communism, or, in literary jargon, ”social dystopia”. My present mental state is now a scrambled, uncoordinated, yet not inexpressible, mixture of thoughts, feelings and reflections. Having been able to lay my hand back on my first crush Pianissimo, black Icene, ever since the earthquake in Northeastern Japan, was like being brought back to “second childhood”. But this is by no means quite near Morris’s intended meaning of the word. It was more like some vague fresh memory of exactly one year ago, when I first made my entrance into this world of “unproductive pleasure”: the quiet, unstirred evening, when I and she sat outside my previous apartment, under the deep unblemished pale dark sky. “Oh it tastes like chocolate”. Now all those memories like a old recording tape rewinds itself in my head now, sweet, old yet fresh and soothing pills.
Then onto my next sub-topic of a fabulous life of Me. It would necessarily be said that from when I have fallen prey to this autism so-called misanthropist, state of being, I have not yet been quite able to grasp. Yet, these days the frequency of getting outside my own room, not to mention meeting and talking to people, has reduced close to a magnificent zero. Zero, by the words of the enesthesia-struck Zamyatin, an “enormous, silent, narrow, knife-sharp crag”. Yet the being called Me has not been through any ordeal or life-changing experience like those of Prendick on the island of Doctor Moreau, or Gulliver after all his travels, to the extent that the mere sight or idea of meeting people would deem too unendurable, painful task to deal with from the first place. In my own fixed and willful state of mind it should be only interpreted and understood as a transient phase in which one would necessarily go through at one or another point in this two-dimensional, life-span axis of time. By two-dimensional I do mean that I view time as a kind of flat-paned, with only the past that stands at one end and future at the other. Well, at least, for the time being.
And with the unfailingly frustrating disconnection from the Cyberworld, I would not been any otherwise better to have my reader understand these lines of mine at the time I was writing them.
During all those short 3 months since I came back to Japan, not a few number of events, no matter how trivial or meaningful they seem to be, have happened to me, whereas I deem a good chance to take them all together, yet split them one-by-one, into reflection now. I have had a romance, though only a very fleeting one, with someone I first talked to on our modern, convenient social network. The affair turned out to be ending as abrupt, if not cold and painful, as how a typhoon would sweep onto one area and left not long after its first landing. But I would not talk about it now, since the period was all one too fragmented, a whirlpool of little events which I deem not beneficial to cast into details. I was hurt; yet being hurt is one necessity of life.
Then my GBLP thing. This is necessarily fluctuating: one time I was all heart and soul, applying to all kinds of internships available and eagerly exploring myself, squeezing the juice out of my brain for it; one time (which is now) I am so aloof, so neutral if not double-minded, or enigmatic, or hesitant, to touch further on the subject. I have come to finally yielding towards to idea that I am better suited to being a 学者、whereby “researcher” would be too cockney, but, otherwise, someone who is encouraged and merited for spending her time just reading and relaxing, with a fair amount of time to reflect, and collect, pieces of literature, or philosophy, that has been enacted and tread by our great numbers of preceding masterminds. Oh well.
Night has deepened and the air is turning increasingly hot and humid. I better turn in now.

Monday, 11 July 2011

Oh Handmaid's Tale

The Handmaid's Tale, oh the Handmaid's Tale...I get so much a headache reading you...Everything is so grim and dark...Just like all the dystopia so far...

Coffee and Tobacco are complete repose, so a Turkish proverb goes

Coffee oh Black Coffee, how bitter you are, yet how sweet ur taste is, it leaves the utmost bitter-sweet taste of the tip of my tongue~ The after-taste

Oh Cigarette oh Cigarette, how poisonous you are, yet how irresistible it is, it leaves the utmost concentrating, mind-intriguing, reflexive effect on me~

Oh Me oh Me, how deteriorating, corrupt I have become, yet I'd have cling on, from day to day, week to week, an unconquerable instinct, just as one's lungs will always draw the next breath so long as their is air available.

Here is me, leaving to the bathroom, have a cool fresh shower, getting ready to go to school, more the mere sake of scene changing... and back to my Handmaid's Tale.

1984, Orwell

It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric current was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week.

Only the Thought Police mattered.

You had to live — did live, from habit that became instinct — in the assumption that every sound you made was overheard, and, except in darkness, every movement scrutinized.

this was London, chief city of Airstrip One, itself the third most populous of the provinces of Oceania.

The four Ministries: The Ministry of Truth (news, entertainment,
education, and the fine arts). The Ministry of Peace (war). The Ministry of Love (law and order).
the Ministry of Plenty (economic affairs). Their names, in Newspeak: Minitrue, Minipax, Miniluv, and Miniplenty.

Party members were supposed not to go into ordinary shops (’dealing on the free market’, it was called), but the rule was not strictly kept, because there were various things, such as shoelaces and razor blades, which it was impossible to get hold of in any other way.

The thing that he was about to do was to open a diary. This was not illegal (nothing was illegal, since there were no longer any laws), but if detected it was reasonably certain that it would be punished by death, or at least by twenty five years in a forced-labour camp.

the Records Department, where Winston worked,

the Two Minutes Hate

He disliked nearly all women, and especially the young and pretty ones. It was always the women, and above all the young ones, who were the most bigoted adherents of the Party, the swallowers of slogans, the amateur spies and nosers-out of unorthodoxy.

O’Brien, a member of the Inner Party

Emmanuel Goldstein, the Enemy of the People, engaged in counterrevolutionary activities, had been condemned to death, and had mysteriously escaped and disappeared. The programmes of the Two Minutes Hate varied from day to day, but there was none in which Goldstein was not the principal figure. He was the primal traitor, the earliest defiler of the Party’s purity.

Nearly all children nowadays were horrible. They adored the Party and everything connected with it. The songs, the processions, the banners, the hiking, the drilling with dummy rifles, the yelling of slogans, the worship of Big Brother — it was all a sort of glorious game to them. Hardly a week passed in which The Times did not
carry a paragraph describing how some eavesdropping little sneak — ’child hero’
was the phrase generally used — had overheard some compromising remark and
denounced its parents to the Thought Police.

On coins, on stamps, on the covers of books, on banners, on posters, and on the wrappings of a cigarette Packet — everywhere. Always the eyes watching you and the voice enveloping you. Asleep or awake, working or eating, indoors or out of doors, in the bath or in bed — no escape. Nothing was your own except the few cubic centimetres inside your skull.

Thoughtcrime does not entail death: thoughtcrime IS death.

With what seemed a single movement she tore off her clothes and flung them disdainfully aside. Her body was white and smooth, but it aroused no desire in him, indeed he barely looked at it. What overwhelmed him in that instant was admiration for the gesture with which she had thrown her clothes aside. With its grace and carelessness it seemed to annihilate a whole culture, a whole system of thought, as though Big Brother and the Party and the Thought Police could all be swept into nothingness by a single splendid movement of the arm.

’Reality control’, they called it: in Newspeak, ’doublethink’.

To know and not to know, to be conscious of complete truthfulness while telling carefully constructed lies, to hold simultaneously two opinions which cancelled out, knowing them to be contradictory and believing in both of them, to use logic against logic, to repudiate morality while laying claim to it, to believe that democracy was impossible and that the Party was the guardian of democracy, to forget whatever it was necessary to forget, then to draw it back into memory again at the moment when it was needed, and then promptly to forget it again: and above all, to apply the same process to the process itself. That was the ultimate subtlety: consciously to induce unconsciousness, and then, once again, to become unconscious of the act of hypnosis you had just performed. Even to understand the word ’doublethink’ involved the use of doublethink.

Ingsoc, in its Oldspeak form-’English Socialism’.

As soon as all the corrections which happened to be necessary in any particular number of The Times had been assembled and collated, that number would be reprinted, the original copy destroyed, and the corrected copy placed on the files in its stead. This process of continuous alteration was applied not only to newspapers, but to every kind of literature or documentation which might conceivably hold any political or ideological significance.

it was not even forgery. It was merely the substitution of one piece of nonsense
for another. Most of the material that you were dealing with had no connexion
with anything in the real world, not even the kind of connexion that is contained
in a direct lie. Statistics were just as much a fantasy in their original version
as in their rectified version.

Syme was a philologist, a specialist in Newspeak. Indeed, he was one of the enormous team of experts now engaged in compiling the Eleventh Edition of the Newspeak Dictionary.

’The Eleventh Edition is the definitive edition,’

We’re destroying words — scores of them, hundreds of them, every day. We’re cutting the language down to the bone. The Eleventh Edition won’t contain a single word that will become obsolete before the year 2050.’

’It’s a beautiful thing, the destruction of words. It isn’t only the synonyms; there are also the antonyms. what justification is there for a word which is simply the opposite of some other word? A word contains its opposite in itself. Take ”good”, for instance. If you have a word like ”good”, what need is there for a word like ”bad”? ”Ungood” will do just as well — better, because it’s an exact opposite, which the other is not. Or again, if you want a stronger version of ”good”, what sense is there in having a whole string of vague useless words like ”excellent” and ”splendid and all the rest of them? ”Plusgood” covers the meaning, or ” doubleplusgood” if you want something stronger still.

In your heart you’d prefer to stick to Oldspeak, with all its vagueness and its useless shades of meaning.

Don’t you see that the whole aim of Newspeak is to narrow the range of
thought? In the end we shall make thoughtcrime literally impossible, because
there will be no words in which to express it. Every concept that can ever
be needed, will be expressed by exactly one word, with its meaning rigidly
defined and all its subsidiary meanings rubbed out and forgotten.

Even now, of course, there’s no reason or excuse for committing thoughtcrime. It’s merely a question of self-discipline, reality-control.

The Revolution will be complete when the language is perfect. Newspeak
is Ingsoc and Ingsoc is Newspeak,’

How could you have a slogan like ”freedom is slavery” when the concept of freedom has been abolished? The whole climate of thought will be different.
In fact there will be no thought, as we understand it now. Orthodoxy means
not thinking — not needing to think. Orthodoxy is unconsciousness.’

There was something subtly wrong
with Syme. There was something that he lacked: discretion, aloofness, a sort
of saving stupidity. You could not say that he was unorthodox. He believed in the principles of Ingsoc, he venerated Big Brother, he rejoiced over victories,
he hated heretics, not merely with sincerity but with a sort of restless zeal,
an up-to-dateness of information, which the ordinary Party member did not
approach. Yet a faint air of disreputability always clung to him. He said things
that would have been better unsaid, he had read too many books, he frequented
the Chestnut Tree Caf´e, haunt of painters and musicians.

There was no law,
not even an unwritten law, against frequenting the Chestnut Tree Caf´e, yet the
place was somehow ill-omened. The old, discredited leaders of the Party had
been used to gather there before they were finally purged.

The fabulous statistics continued to pour out of the telescreen. As compared
with last year there was more food, more clothes, more houses, more furniture,
more cooking-pots, more fuel, more ships, more helicopters, more books, more
babies — more of everything except disease, crime, and insanity.

In any time that he could accurately
remember, there had never been quite enough to eat, one had never had socks
or underclothes that were not full of holes, furniture had always been battered
and rickety, rooms underheated, tube trains crowded, houses falling to pieces,
bread dark-coloured, tea a rarity, coffee filthy-tasting, cigarettes insufficient —
nothing cheap and plentiful except synthetic gin.

It was terribly dangerous to let your thoughts
wander when you were in any public place or within range of a telescreen.
The smallest thing could give you away. A nervous tic, an unconscious look of
anxiety, a habit of muttering to yourself — anything that carried with it the
suggestion of abnormality, of having something to hide. In any case, to wear
an improper expression on your face (to look incredulous when a victory was
announced, for example) was itself a punishable offence. There was even a word
for it in Newspeak: facecrime, it was called.

he thought of Katharine, his wife.
Winston was married — had been married, at any rate: probably he still was
married, so far as he knew his wife was not dead.

To be caught with a
prostitute might mean five years in a forced-labour camp.
Tacitly the Party was even
inclined to encourage prostitution, as an outlet for instincts which could not
be altogether suppressed. Mere debauchery did not matter very much, so long
as it was furtive and joyless and only involved the women of a submerged and
despised class. The unforgivable crime was promiscuity between Party members.
But — though this was one of the crimes that the accused in the great purges
invariably confessed to — it was difficult to imagine any such thing actually

Its real, undeclared
purpose was to remove all pleasure from the sexual act.

All marriages
between Party members had to be approved by a committee appointed for the
purpose, and — though the principle was never clearly stated — permission was
always refused if the couple concerned gave the impression of being physically
attracted to one another. The only recognized purpose of marriage was to beget
children for the service of the Party. Sexual intercourse was to be looked on as
a slightly disgusting minor operation, like having an enema.

There were even organizations such as
the Junior Anti-Sex League, which advocated complete celibacy for both sexes.
All children were to be begotten by artificial insemination (artsem, it was called
in Newspeak) and brought up in public institutions.

The Party was trying to kill the sex instinct, or, if it
could not be killed, then to distort it and dirty it.

He thought again of Katharine. It must be nine, ten — nearly eleven years
since they had parted. It was curious how seldom he thought of her. For days
at a time he was capable of forgetting that he had ever been married. They had
only been together for about fifteen months. The Party did not permit divorce,
but it rather encouraged separation in cases where there were no children.

she had without exception
the most stupid, vulgar, empty mind that he had ever encountered. She had
not a thought in her head that was not a slogan, and there was no imbecility,
absolutely none that she was not capable of swallowing if the Party handed it out to her. ’The human sound-track’ he nicknamed her in his own mind.

They must, she said,
produce a child if they could. So the performance continued to happen, once a
week quite regulariy, whenever it was not impossible. She had two names for it. One was ’making a
baby’, and the other was ’our duty to the Party’

But a real love affair was an almost
unthinkable event. The women of the Party were all alike. Chastity was as deep
ingrained in them as Party loyalty.

And what he wanted, more even
than to be loved, was to break down that wall of virtue, even if it were only once
in his whole life. The sexual act, successfully performed, was rebellion. Desire
was thoughtcrime.


If there is hope, wrote Winston, it lies in the proles.
If there was hope, it must lie in the proles, because only there in those
swarming disregarded masses, 85 per cent of the population of Oceania, could
the force to destroy the Party ever be generated.

The Party claimed, of course, to have liberated the proles
from bondage. But simultaneously,
true to the Principles of doublethink, the Party taught that the proles were
natural inferiors who must be kept in subjection, like animals, by the application
of a few simple rules.

So long as they continued to work and breed,
their other activities were without importance.

To keep them in control was not difficult.

No attempt was made to indoctrinate them with the
ideology of the Party. It was not desirable that the proles should have strong
political feelings. All that was required of them was a primitive patriotism which
could be appealed to whenever it was necessary to make them accept longer
working-hours or shorter rations. And even when they became discontented,
as they sometimes did, their discontent led nowhere, because being without
general ideas, they could only focus it on petty specific grievances. The larger
evils invariably escaped their notice.

In all questions of morals they were allowed to follow
their ancestral code. The sexual puritanism of the Party was not imposed upon
them. Promiscuity went unpunished, divorce was permitted. For that matter,
even religious worship would have been permitted if the proles had shown any
sign of needing or wanting it. They were beneath suspicion. As the Party slogan
put it: ’Proles and animals are free.’

principle a Party member had no spare time, and was never alone except in
bed. It was assumed that when he was not working, eating, or sleeping he
would be taking part in some kind of communal recreation: to do anything that
suggested a taste for solitude, even to go for a walk by yourself, was always
slightly dangerous. There was a word for it in Newspeak: ownlife, it was called,
meaning individualism and eccentricity.

Within twenty years at the most, he reflected, the huge and simple question,
’Was life better before the Revolution than it is now?’ would have ceased once
and for all to be answerable. But in effect it was unanswerable even now, since
the few scattered survivors from the ancient world were incapable of comparing
one age with another. They remembered a million useless things, (…) but all
the relevant facts were outside the range of their vision. They were like the ant,
which can see small objects but not large ones. And when memory failed and
written records were falsified — when that happened, the claim of the Party
to have improved the conditions of human life had got to be accepted, because
there did not exist, and never again could exist, any standard against which it
could be tested.

The glass paperweight made of coral he bought at the antique shop: It was a queer thing, even a compromising thing, for a Party member to have
in his possession. Anything old, and for that matter anything beautiful, was
always vaguely suspect.

The hunting-down and
destruction of books had been done with the same thoroughness in the prole
quarters as everywhere else. It was very unlikely that there existed anywhere in
Oceania a copy of a book printed earlier than 1960.

Anything large and
impressive, if it was reasonably new in appearance, was automatically claimed
as having been built since the Revolution, while anything that was obviously
of earlier date was ascribed to some dim period called the Middle Ages. The
centuries of capitalism were held to have produced nothing of any value. One
could not learn history from architecture any more than one could learn it from
books. Statues, inscriptions, memorial stones, the names of streets — anything
that might throw light upon the past had been systematically altered.

It struck him that in moments of crisis one is never fighting against an external
enemy, but always against one’s own body.

Not to let one’s feelings appear in one’s face was
a habit that had acquired the status of an instinct


’Actually I am that sort of girl, to
look at. I’m good at games. I was a troop-leader in the Spies. I do voluntary
work three evenings a week for the Junior Anti-Sex League. (…) Always yell with the crowd, that’s what I say. It’s the only way to be safe.’

’talking by instalments’

working week was sixty hours, Julia’s was even longer, and their free days varied
according to the pressure of work and did not often coincide. Julia, in any case,
seldom had an evening completely free. She spent an astonishing amount of time
in attending lectures and demonstrations, distributing literature for the junior
Anti-Sex League, preparing banners for Hate Week, making collections for the
savings campaign, and such-like activities. It paid, she said, it was camouflage.

Julia was twenty-six years old. She lived in a hostel with thirty other girls
she worked on the novel-writing machines in the Fiction

She hated the Party, and said so in the crudest words,
but she made no general criticism of it. Except where it touched upon her
own life she had no interest in Party doctrine. He noticed that she never used
Newspeak words except the ones that had passed into everyday use. She had
never heard of the Brotherhood, and refused to believe in its existence. Any
kind of organized revolt against the Party, which was bound to be a failure,
struck her as stupid. The clever thing was to break the rules and stay alive all
the same.

grown up in the world of the Revolution,
knowing nothing else, accepting the Party as something unalterable, like the
sky, not rebelling against its authority but simply evading it, as a rabbit dodges
a dog.

Katharine= the Newspeak word goodthinkful( orthodox, incapable of thinking a bad thought)

Unlike Winston, she had grasped the inner meaning
of the Party’s sexual puritanism. It was not merely that the sex instinct created
a world of its own which was outside the Party’s control and which therefore
had to be destroyed if possible. What was more important was that sexual
privation induced hysteria, which was desirable because it could be transformed
into war-fever and leader-worship. The way she put it was:
’When you make love you’re using up energy; and afterwards you feel happy
and don’t give a damn for anything. They can’t bear you to feel like that. They
want you to be bursting with energy all the time. All this marching up and down
and cheering and waving flags is simply sex gone sour.

There was a direct intimate connexion between
chastity and political orthodoxy. The sex impulse was dangerous to the Party, and the Party had turned
it to account.

The children,
on the other hand, were systematically turned against their parents and taught
to spy on them and report their deviations. The family had become in effect an
extension of the Thought Police. It was a device by means of which everyone
could be surrounded night and day by informers who knew him intimately.

But she refused to believe that widespread, organized opposition existed or could exist. The tales about Goldstein and his underground army,
she said, were simply a lot of rubbish which the Party had invented for its own
purposes and which you had to pretend to believe in.

In some ways she was far more acute than Winston, and far less susceptible
to Party propaganda. Once when he happened in some connexion to mention
the war against Eurasia, she startled him by saying casually that in her opinion
the war was not happening. The rocket bombs which fell daily on London
were probably fired by the Government of Oceania itself, ’just to keep people

But she only
questioned the teachings of the Party when they in some way touched upon her
own life. Often she was ready to accept the official mythology, simply because
the difference between truth and falsehood did not seem important to her.

In the ramifications of party doctrine she had not the faintest interest.

In a way, the world-view of the Party imposed itself most
successfully on people incapable of understanding it. (…) By lack of understanding they
remained sane. They simply swallowed everything, and what they swallowed
did them no harm, because it left no residue behind, just as a grain of corn will
pass undigested through the body of a bird.

The terrible thing that the Party had done was to persuade
you that mere impulses, mere feelings, were of no account, while at the same
time robbing you of all power over the material world.

The proles had stayed human. They had not become hardened inside. They had
held on to the primitive emotions which he himself had to re-learn by conscious

The one thing that matters is that we shouldn’t
betray one another, although even that can’t make the slightest difference.’

Confession is not betrayal. What you say or do
doesn’t matter: only feelings matter. If they could make me stop loving you —
that would be the real betrayal.’

Winston: “They can’t get
inside you. If you can feel that staying human is worth while, even when it can’t
have any result whatever, you’ve beaten them.’


The members of the Brotherhood have no way of recognizing one another, and it is impossible for any one member to be aware of the identity of more than a few others.

The Brotherhood cannot be wiped out because it is not an organization in the ordinary sense. Nothing holds it together except an idea which is indestructible.


You believe that reality is something objective, external, existing in its own right. You also believe that the nature of reality is self-evident. But I tell you, Winston, that reality is not external. Reality exists in the human mind, and nowhere else. Not in the individual mind, which can make mistakes, and in any case soon perishes: only in the mind of the Party, which is collective and immortal. Whatever the Party holds to be the truth, is truth.

’No! Not merely to extract your confession, not to punish you. Shall I tell you why we have brought you here? To cure you! To make you sane!

The Party is not interested in the overt act: the thought is all we care about. We do not merely destroy our enemies, we change them.

We are not content with negative obedience, nor even with the most abject submission. When finally you surrender to us, it must be of your own free will. We do not destroy the heretic because he resists us: so long as he resists us we never destroy him. We convert him, we capture his inner mind, we reshape him.

Never again will you be capable of ordinary human feeling.
Everything will be dead inside you. Never again will you be capable of love,
or friendship, or joy of living, or laughter, or curiosity, or courage, or integrity.
You will be hollow. We shall squeeze you empty, and then we shall fill you with



Power is not a means, it is an end.

The first thing you must realize is that power is collective.
The individual only has power in so far as he ceases to be an individual. You know the Party slogan: ”Freedom is Slavery”. Has it ever occurred to you that it is reversible? Slavery is freedom.

is in inflicting pain and humiliation. Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing.

Ours is founded upon hatred. In our world there will be no emotions except fear, rage, triumph, and self-abasement.

No one dares trust a wife or a child or a friend any longer.
But in the future there will be no wives and no friends. Children will be taken
from their mothers at birth, as one takes eggs from a hen. The sex instinct
will be eradicated.

We shall abolish the orgasm. There will be no loyalty, except loyalty towards the Party. There will be no love, except the love of Big Brother. There will be no laughter, except the
laugh of triumph over a defeated enemy. There will be no art, no literature, no


The mind should develop a blind spot whenever a dangerous thought presented itself. The process should be automatic, instinctive. Crimestop, they called it in Newspeak.

He obeyed the Party, but he still hated the Party. In the old days he had hidden a heretical mind beneath an appearance of conformity. Now he had retreated a step further: in the mind he had surrendered, but he had hoped to keep the inner heart inviolate.

The thing in Room 101 is the worst thing in the world, which varies from individuals to individuals.

Winston: fear of rats.

There was one and only one way to save himself. He must interpose another human being, the body of another human being, between himself and the rats.

Between Julia and Winston now = contempt and dislike.

“At the time when it happens u do mean it. All u care about is urself. And after that, u don’t feel the same towards the person any longer.”

From 15 to closing time he was a fixture in Chestnut Tree. He had been appointed to a sub-committee which had sprouted from one of the innumerable committees dealing with minor difficulties involving the compilation of the 11th edition of Newspeak Dictionary.

Sunday, 10 July 2011

Brave New World, Huxley

Central London Hatchery and Conditioning Center


Year A.F. 632

The Alphas and Betas remained until definitely bottled, while the Gammas, Deltas and Epsilons were brought out after 36 hours, to undergo the Bokanovsky’s Process.

One egg, one embryo, one adult – normality. But a Bokanovsky egg will bud, will proliferate, will divide. From 8 to 96 buds, and every bud will grow into a perfectly formed embryo, and every embryo into a full-sized adult. Making 96 human beings grow where only one grew before. Progress.

Bokanovskification consists of a series of arrests of development. The egg responds by budding.

Bokanovsky’s Process is one of the major instruments of social stability.

In nature it takes 30 yrs for 200 eggs to reach maturity. Podsnap’s Technique immensely accelerated the process of ripening. At least 150 mature eggs within 2 yrs.

Ovary record = 16012

Epsilon embryo kept below par -> less oxygen -> less intelligence (70%=dwarfs, <70% = eyeless monster) Coolness wedded to discomfort in hard X-rays. By the time they’re decanted the embryo had a horror of cold. They were predestined to emigrate to the tropics, to be miners and acetate silk spinners and steel workers. We condition them to thrive on heat. That is the secret of happiness and virtue – liking what u’ve got to do. All conditioning aims at that: making people like their unescapable social destiny. Chemical workers trained in toleration of lead, caustic soda, tar, chlorine. Embryonic rocket-plane engineers kept in constant rotation. “To improve their sense of balance. Doing repairs on the outside of a rocket in mid-air is a ticklish job. We slacken off the circulation when they’re right way up, so that they’re half starved, and double the flow of surrogate when they’re upside down. They learn to associate topsy-turvydom with well-being; in fact, they’re only truly happy when they’re standing on their heads.” Deltas, dressed in khaki. “They’ll grow up with what psychologists call an “instinctive” hatred of books and flowers. Reflexes unalterably conditioned. (Books and loud noise, flowers and electric shock) Not long ago, G, D and E were conditioned to like flowers. The idea was 2 make them go out into the country more often, and thus consume more transport. YET, a love of nature keeps no factories busy. It was decided to abolish the love of nature, but not the tendency to consume transport. -> condition the mass to hate the country, but love country sports.

Elementary Class Consciousness: “Alpha wear grey. They work much harder than we do, because they’re so frightfully clever. I’m rly awfully glad I’m a Beta, b/c I don’t work so hard. And we’re much better than Gammas and Deltas. Gammas are stupid, they wear green. Delta wear khaki. And Epsilons are worse. They’re too stupid to read or write, and wear black, a beastly color.”

Hypnopaedia = sleep-teaching, words without reason.

The appalling dangers of family life

Fanny saying to Lenina: u ought to be more promiscuous… (Lenina has been with Henry Foster for 4 months, and no one else)

“Everyone belongs to everyone else.”

Bernard: an Alpha plus, psychologist. Physique hardly better than that of a Gamma. 8 centimetres short of standard Alpha height and slender in proportion. Contacts with lower castes reminded painfully of his physical inadequacy (inferiority complex) as hynopaedic prejudice in favor of size was universal. -> feeling alienated and alone, outsider.

Hemholtz: Alpha plus, handsome, lecturer at College of Emotional Engineering (Department of Writing). A mental excess produced in Hemholtz effects similar to those which, in Bernard, were results of a physical defect. Too much ability made Hemholtz so uncomfortably aware of being himself and all alone.

A physical shortcoming could produce a kind of mental excess. The process, it seemed, was reversible. Mental excess could produce, for its own purposes, the voluntary blindness and deafness of deliberate solitude, the artificial impotence of asceticism.

“I love flying. I love having new clothes. We always throw away old clothes. Ending is better than mending.”

The World State, Community Sings, Ford’s Day Celebration, Solidarity Service.

Soma: “one cubic centimeter cures ten gloomy sentiments.”

“A gramme is better than a damn.”

“Everybody’s happy now.”

Alternate Thursdays were Bernard’s Solidarity Service days. 12 men and women sitting alternate in a ring around the table. Solidarity Hymn. Soma tablets placed in centre. Strawberry icecream soma passed around. “I drink to my annihilation”, “I drink to the Greater Being”, “I drink to the imminence of His Coming.” “The feet of the Greater Being”


(Bernard) was as miserably isolated now as he had been when the service began – more isolated by reason of his unreplenished emptiness, his dead satiety.

Bernard: don’t like taking soma, don’t like crowds. “What would it be like if I could, if I were free, not enslaved by my conditioning”

When threatened by the D.H.C to be transferred to Iceland, Bernard “left the room with a swagger, exulting, (…) in the thought that he stood alone, embattled against the order of things; elated by the intoxicating consciousness of his individual significance and importance. Even the thought of persecution left him undismayed, and was rather tonic than depressing.”

Hemholtz: hated Bernard’s boasting, abject pity, boldness after the event, yet because he liked him.

“We preserve them from diseases. We keep their internal secretions artificially balanced at a youthful equilibrium. We don’t permit their magnesium-calcium ratio to fall below what it was at 30. We give them transfusion of young blood, keep their metabolism permanently stimulated. (…) Youth almost unimpaired till 60, then, crack, the end.”

In Savage Reservation: Lenina saw two young women giving breasts to their babies, blushed and turned away. It was indecent.

Bernard and Lenina, at the Savage Reservation, met John the Savage. Linda was his mother, and a Beta-minus, working in Fertilizing Room. Father is Tomakin (the D.H.C), yet he ran way to the “Other Place” (the World State), left Linda and John at Malpais with the Indians.

Linda: “This beastly wool isn’t like acetate. It lasts and lasts. And u’re supposed to mend it if it gets torn. (…) It never used to be right to mend clothes. “The more stitches, the less riches. Mending’s anti-social.”

Bernard: “I wonder if u’d like to come back to London with us?”, making the first move in a campaign whose strategy he had been secretly elaborating ever since….

John the Savage: “O Brave new world”

(…) for “father” was not so much obscene as – with its connotation of sth at one remove from the loathsomeness and moral obliquity of child-bearing – merely gross, a scatological rather than pornographic impropriety.

To say one was a mother: that was past a joke, it was an obscenity.

Linda: the return to civilization was to her a return to soma, was the possibility of lying in bed and taking holiday after holiday. Greedily she clamoured larger, ever more frequent doses… much as 20 grammes a day.

Bernard now found himself, for the 1st time in his life, as a person of outstanding importance. Success went fizzily to Bernard’s head, and in the process completely reconciled him to a world which, up until then, he had found very unsatisfactory.

“Eton is reserved exclusively for upper caste boy and girls. One egg, one adult.”

“Malthusian Drill”

“We don’t encourage them with any solitude amusements.”

Death condition begins at 18 months. Every tot spends two mornings/ week in the Hospital for the Dying. All the best toys are there, and they get choc cream on death days. They learn to take dying as a matter of course.

For G, D, S: get soma after work. 4 half-gramme tablets. 6 on Saturdays.

Hemholtz also went into conflict with authority over some rhymes he made about solitude. (on the use of rhymes in moral propaganda and advertisement, the 7th lecture in 12 about rhymes)

Hemholtz and the Savage took to one another at once. So cordially indeed that Bernard felt a sharp pang of jealousy.

In hearing the Savage citing the scene in Romeo and Juliet when lady Capulet bullied Juliet to marry Paris, Hemholtz broke out in uncontrollable guffawing. “The mother and father (grotesque obscenity) forcing the daughter to have someone she didn’t want! In its smutty absurdity the situation was irresistibly comical.”

V.P.S Treatment (Violent Passion Surrogate): compulsory, once a month.

John insulted at Lenina’s sexual advances: “Whore! Impudent strumpet!”

Mustafa Mond also read Shakespeare and the Bible: “It’s prohibited, but as I make the laws here, I can also break them, with impunity.”

Why prohibited: “because it’s old. Beauty’s attractive, and we don’t want people 2 be attracted by old things.”

“Because our world is not the same as Othello’s world. U cant make tragedies without social instability. The world’s stable now. People r happy, they get wat they want, and never want what they cant get. They’re well off, they’re safe, they’re never ill, not afraid of death, blissfully ignorant of passion and old age, plagued with no mother or father, no wives, no children, or lovers. And if anything goes wrong, there’s soma.”

“u’ve got to choose between happiness and high art. We sacrificed the high art. Instead, we have feelies and scent organ now.”

An Alpha-conditioned man would go crazy if he had 2 do Epsilon Semi-moron work. They can b socialized, only on condition that they do Alpha work. (Cyprus experiment when 22000 Alphas were left on the island and made to manage all affairs->total chaos.)

“the optimum population is modeled on the iceberg – eight-ninth below the water line and one-ninth above.”

The experiment on Bokanovsky group: more than one century and a half ago, the whole of Ireland put to work only 4 hours/ day. -> unrest and large consumption of soma. Those 3.5 hours of extra leisure was far from a source of happiness; people felt constrained to take a holiday from them.

Every change is a menace to society -> chary of applying new inventions. Every discovery in pure science is potentially subversive.

Mustafa Mond (a physicist before): “I started to do a bit cooking of my own. Unorthodox cooking, illicit cooking. A bit of real science. I was on the point of being sent to an island.”

After the 9-year war, universal happiness kept the wheels turning; truth and beauty cannot.

Hemholtz decided 2 go to Falkland islands where there is bad climate so he can do what he like.

Art, science, religion sacrificed for happiness.

Mustafa Mond: “Bible – pornographic old books. God in the safe and Ford on the shelves.”

The religious sentiments tend to develop as we grow older, as the passions grow calm, fancy and sensibilities less excited… u can only be independent of God when u’re young. We’ve now got youth and prosperity right to the end. We can b independent of God. Religious sentiments are superfluous. Why should we go hunting for substitute for youthful desires when youthful desires never fail? What need have we of repose when our minds and bodies continue to delight in activity? Of consolation, when we have soma? Of sth immovable, when we have social order?

God isn’t compatible with machine, scientific medicine and universal happiness.

Industrial civilization is only possible when there’s no self-denial. Self-indulgence up to the very limits imposed by hygiene and economics. Otherwise the wheels stop turning.

U cant have a civilization without plenty of pleasant vices. No need for nobility or heroism, as there aren’t any wars now.

There’s always soma to calm ur anger, make u patient and long-suffering. U can carry at least half ur mortality in a bottle. Christianity without tears – that’s what soma is.

“did u eat sth that didn’t agree w u?” “yes, I ate civilization. And I ate my own wickedness.”

The Savage went to live in a light-house to mourn Linda’s death and be away from “loathsome civilization”: “After all, it was not to sing and enjoy himself that he had come here. It was to escape further contamination by the filth of civilized life; it was to be purified and made good; it was actively to make amends.”

Delta-minus land workers happened to see John whip himself. Then the reporters came.

“Poor Linda he had sworn to remember. But it was still the presence of Lenina that haunted him.”

Darwin, the game photographer watched the whole scene of John whipping himself, made a video “The Savage of Surrey”, then helicopters flooded to John’s place.

Tuesday, 5 July 2011

Cockney. Fake. Simulated.

I find it increasingly hard to effectively express how frustrated I am with the philistinism of all these people. Escorting, interacting, civil smiles could not have veiled my ill-concealed irritation of it anyway.

Out of duty I will attend a seminar in which one fat guy will gibber on for hours, whereby we sit fixed as audience, struggling hard to stifle our yawns, which by nature are a contagious social phenomenon. All of us are like sheep stuffed into one big cage, and then the shepherd which does the task out of his supposed duty in order to feed his family, will heat the cage, feed us with fake and artificial manners on how to act as a robotic salaryman in these big, mundane machines later on. The heat itself is fake too, full of cockneyed boosting of morale and a necessarily brainwashing quality to it. The heat is sometimes too great that all the facial acnes of one of our senpai, accumulated over sleepless nights writing curriculum vitae and fake 自己PR, would burst out like beans first coming out of ground on their first harvest. Oh, this is unbearable; the vision itself is yet too hilarious for one to bear with his indignation at the system for too long.

"WE" - Yevgeny Zamyatin

The ancient day’s “Railway Guide” “side by side with our Table, and it will be as graphite next to a diamond: both consist of the same element carbon yet how eternal, how transparent is the diamond (…)”

Table of Hours

Twice a day, from sixteen to seventeen, and from twenty-one to twenty-two, the single mighty organism breaks up into separate cells; these are the Personal Hours designated by the Table.

I have read and heard many incredible things about those times when people still lived in a free, i.e., unorganized, savage condition. But most incredible of all, it seems to me, is that the state authority of that time, no matter how rudimentary, could allow men to live without anything like our Table, without obligatory walks, without exact regulation of mealtimes, getting up and going to bed (…)

And wasn’t it absurd that the state could leave sexual life without any semblance of control? … Totally unscientific, like animals. (..) fail to establish such thing as our Maternal and Paternal Norms.

(…) handed in my pink coupon, and received the certificate permitting me to lower the shades. This right is only granted on sexual days. At all other times we live behind our transparent walls that seem woven of gleaming air we are always visible, always washed in light. We have nothing to conceal from one another. Besides, this makes much easier the difficult and noble task of the Guardians. For who knows what might happen otherwise? Perhaps it was precisely those strange, opaque dwellings of the ancients that gave rise to their paltry cage psychology.

One of the ancient sages said a clever thing accidentally of course. “Love and Hunger rule the world.” Ergo: to conquer the world, man must conquer its rulers. Our forebears succeeded, at heavy cost, in conquering Hunger; I am speaking of the Great Two Hundred Years’ War, the war between the city and the village (…) But in the year 85 before the founding of One State, our present food, a petroleum product, was developed. True, only 0.2 of the earth’s population survived the war.

Is it not clear, however, that bliss and envy are the numerator and denominator of the fraction called happiness? And what sense would there be in the countless sacrifices of the Great Two Hundred Years’ War, if reasons for envy still remain in our life?

Naturally, having conquered Hunger (algebraically, by the sum total of external welfare), the One State launched its attack against the other ruler of the world called Love. And finally this elemental force was also subjugated, organized and reduced to mathematical order. (…) “Each number has a right to any other number, as to a sexual commodity.”

Since then it has been only a matter of technology. You are carefully examined in the laboratories of the Sexual Department; the exact content of sexual hormones in your blood is determined, and you are provided with an appropriate Table of sexual days. After that, you declare that on your sexual days u wish to use number so-and-so, and you receive your book of coupons (pink). And that’s all.

This word has survived only as a poetic metaphor; the chemical composition of this substance is unknown to us.  

Clearly, this leaves no possible reasons for envy; the denominator of the happiness fraction is reduced to zero, and the fraction is transformed into a magnificent infinity. And so what to the ancients was the source of innumerable stupid tragedies has been reduced to a harmonious, pleasant, and useful function of the organism (…) hence you see how the great power of logic purifies everything it touches.

“Liberation?” Amazing, the extent to which criminal instincts persist in human nature. (…) when man’s freedom equals zero, he commits no crimes. The only means of ridding man of crime is ridding him of freedom.

Sth similar was experienced by the ancients during their “religious services”. But they worshipped their own irrational, unknown God; we serve our rational and precisely known one. (…) We offer a sacrifice to our God, the One State, a calm, reasoned, sensible sacrifice.

Every number has to report to the Office of the Guardians within 48 hours.

Membranes: camouflaged, installed on very street to record conversations for the OG.

Everyone who poisons himself with nicotine or alcohol is “ruthlessly destroyed” by the One State.

Dream = Irrational

Irrational values were growing thru everything solid, familiar, three-dimensional, and instead of firm, polished planes I was surrounded by gnarled, shaggy things…

“I am saddened to see that, instead of a harmonious and strict mathematical poem in honor of the One State, I am producing some sort of a fantastic adventure novel.”

The Operational Section: physicians, under the Benefactor. (developed 5 centuries ago)
Gas Bell: torturing tool (a mouse is placed under a glass jar and an air pump rarefies the air inside, serving “a noble end, safeguards the security of the One State, the happiness of millions”)

Man ceased to be a savage only when we had built the Green Wall, when we had isolated our perfect mechanical world from the irrational, hideous world of trees, birds, animals…

à Irrationality is frowned upon and Reason prevails.

Everything great is simple; only the four rules of arithmetic are eternal and immutable. And only an ethic built on the 4 rules can be great, immutable, and eternal. This is the ultimate wisdom, the summit of the pyramid, which people, flushed with perspiration, kicking and gasping, have been climbing for centuries.

Unanimity Day: the “great holiday” (=Easter), annual election of Benefactor. This is entirely unlike the disorderly, disorganized election of the ancients, when the very results of elections were unknown beforehand. Building a state on entirely unpredictable eventualities, blindly, what can be more senseless?

Elections themselves are mainly symbolic. The history of the One State knows of no occasion when even a single voice dared to violate the majestic unison.

MEPHI = Name of the world beyond the Green Wall (ppl wearing fur, hiding in woods)

There r 2 forces: entropy and energy. Entropy: blissful quietude and happy equilibrium (worshipped by “our ancestors, the Christians”). Energy: destruction of equilibrium (“We”).

But the heart is nothing but an ideal pump; compression, shrinkage, the sucking in of fluid by a pump are technical absurdities. It is clear how essentially preposterous, unnatural and morbid are the “loves”, “pities”, and all other nonsense that cause such compressions!

“How can there be a final revolution? There is no final revolution; revolutions are infinite (just as there is no largest number)” (I-330)

IMAGINATION=Sickness-> Triple X-ray to remove imagination-> Great Operation

“Reason must prevail.”


The mathematician, Builder of Integral (a spaceship to go onto other planets and conquer them), D-503, his lover 0-90 and poet friend R-13.

This state itself is built with transparent walls (glass), easy for surveillance by the Office of Guardians.

Table of Hours to designate fixed time for activities. Sexual days with pink coupon, sex with any number registered.

He fell for I-330, who wages a revolution against the One State, for the world beyond the Green Wall. Met at Ancient House.

He had dreams which he took that for falling ill since dreams=irrationality.

D-503 and I-330 plans to seize the Integral at 12 after locking all the ppl into the dining room, but the plan failed since the U lady who works at the entrance to register ins and outs of the building, betrayed them (showed the notes to the State).

D-503 had talk with Benefactor, and found out that he was only being used.

He confessed to S, a Guardian officer, yet S was also part of the Mephi.

He went for the Great Operation and gave I-330 in to the One State.
She and the others involved were put to Gas Bell torture and afterwards to the Benefactor’s Machine. D-503 concluded: Reason must prevail.