From The Vault: “I Love Big Brother”
I wrote this prose poem months ago, before the current escalation:
I love Big Brother.
And you should too.
He makes our lives simpler.
More peaceful.
He gets rid of the undesirables, the criminals and the illegals.
He protects the working class
They're calling them the Proles now.
He creates jobs for us.
He—and his Party—help us learn how to think.
Who to trust. Who to fear.
They help us sort through the chaos.
They tell us what is fake.
They tell us who is lying.
Big Brother is helping our country.
He’s punishing those ingrates overseas
—after all the tax dollars we gave them, how could they betray him?!
He’s protecting local businesses
by taxing the goods they send us.
Maybe they’ll even come back here and build things again, bring back homeland manufacturing!
New jobs.
Unemployment at historic lows.
Everything will be better than ever before.
Big Brother will take us there.
————————————————————————
I’m just…
I’m not sure what happened.
Prices are high.
Unemployment is higher.
Citizens didn’t want the new jobs Big Brother made.
So he brought in foreigners.
Said it was patriotic.
Said that it would help us prosper.
I paid $400 last week for a t-shirt and slacks at Walmart. They're $450 now.
The new phones cost $3,000.
Apple just filed Chapter 11.
The news doesn’t make sense anymore.
Today it said that yesterday’s report was fake.
Yesterday said the day before that was fake.
They all quote Big Brother.
They all quote each other.
Yesterday I lost contact with my cousins.
Two different cities.
The news says ICE was active there.
Successful raids.
But… they were born here.
They’ve always been here.
Maybe they were caught in the crossfire.
Maybe they said something wrong.
Maybe they didn’t support the Party.
Maybe...
Should I love Big Brother?
Should you?
Here we catalog the fractures, inconsistencies, and absurdities of modern discourse—not to gawk, but to understand. Not to despair, but to reconnect. Every entry is a stitch in the fabric of meaning. Some are sharp. Some are soft. All are deliberate.
Meaning Rents Here.
The following is a prose poem which I wrote around 3 months ago:
