The Great Society and Freedom


imagesMy name is Saul. I am a loyal member of the Great Socialist Society of America. My vocation or position in the Great Society is Transition Facilitator. I prepare people and help them transition to the next level of consciousness.

The year is The Year of Our Great Socialist State 2075. We live in the virtual dome, built upon the former barbarian capital of Detroit. Our beautiful society came about after the collapse of the Barbarian Republic during the food riots of 2020. Our Elites learned from the radicalism of free expression and resistance of state authority, so popular among barbarian society of the past.

Using the endemic mistakes of the past so common with unbridled freedom of expression and the desire to be unique, an antithesis template was designed by the Elites to create our utopian existence within the virtual dome of New Detroitscam. The problems of the past have been eliminated for those of us who seek higher planes of existence by dedicating our lives to the Common Good.

The former city of Detroit, a virtual ghost town and toxic waste dump, is now the utopian dream dome of Detroitscam. The one and only city of its kind in the world and the only refuge from the dreaded barbarians, the city is now a perfect circle with a diameter of 200 barbarian miles.

We the citizens of Detroitscam are selected from the finest zygotes in the laboratory. We are hand delivered to waiting parents by the Stork-mobile, a driverless tricycle of surprising speed. The Jerry Brown Zoomer, a high-speed train facsimile from the fanciful dreams of barbarian Governor Jerry Brown, conducts the initial delivery of newborns to the tricycle pickup stations. It was the senile Governor and his fanciful but impractical dreams of mounting high-speed trains on tracks designed during the early stages of 19th Century locomotion that initiated the collapse of one of the richest barbarian states. We revere the incompetence of the impractical dreamers of the beginning of the 21st Century, for it was their ignorance that hastened the fall of the Ancient Society and ushered in the new enlightenment. We are the ultimate of efficiency and correctness.

Personally, I conduct pre-deployment interviews and determine which of the higher realms will be best for each traveler. It is a time of happiness and joy for both the traveler and myself. The traveler views the next destination through a viewfinder and I read a tourist brochure describing the pristine beauty of each destination.

The facilitation can take a few hours or several days, depending on how difficult it is to determine the needs of the individual. Some transitional travelers have unusual ideas or thoughts; although, mental deviancy is frowned upon, these concepts of nonconformity, the antithesis of group think, are recorded by me and kept for analysis by a Council of Elites.

I have never met an Elite, but I have seen many of them at our May Day Parades, those special days, when we encourage everyone to let the Elites be your guides. The parades have replaced the athletic games of the past, as well as the social events that caused heartache and pain in the societies that are now part of our humorous historical past. Now, the parades illustrate the virtues attached to correctness of being and instead of admiring entertainers and athletes, we offer thanks and submission to the elites and their families, May They Be Your Guides every day and may every day be a May Day, and may we be as correct as humanly possible. These are joyous occasions, held every 15 days, and everyone is elated after a rousing correctness parade.

Today is a special day in my life, even though it is improper to think of ourselves in anyway beyond being a part of the society. I am blessed; the Elites have selected me over all the facilitators to help Cowboy Bob make his transition from barbarian to a meaningful life among the Utopian Collective. He is wild and dangerous; I will need to be careful, but I am confident I can convince him of the wisdom of joining our Utopian Collective and striving to be correct.

You the readers may listen from outside the transition room. I will describe everything, our voices will be heard in the hall and monitors will record our movements. I have never seen a barbarian and this one is special because of his age and strength.

Here is his holding room. You will be listening to our conversation and to my thoughts, through my thought dictation app. Let’s see what happens; enlightened man is about to engage a wild barbarian in a battle of wits.

Saul opens the door and steps into the holding room. The barbarian is strapped onto his bunk. The barbarian has long hair and whiskers. His clothes are filthy and reek of an unwashed human body. Saul hides his disgust for the unkempt barbarian’s hygiene and tries to be cheerful and pleasant; this cheerfulness is expected from members of the collective, even when confronted with evil.

“Good day, Bob, may I ask if you are happy,” Saul asks with a smile.

“Look, you little prick, I heed to take a piss and a dump, but your smiling friends have had me laced up for 24 hours. I need to use that toilet, and if you don’t let me up, we are going to have a big mess in the next few minutes,” the barbarian replied. He was obviously distressed, but Saul felt like he needed an assurance that he would be safe.

“Do you promise not to injure me and to be my friend?” Saul asked.

“Yes, I will be your friend; until they come to kill me or until I get out of this lunatic asylum,” the barbarian expressed rage in a manner that Saul had never been exposed to in his life.

Saul began releasing the plastic restraints, and wondering if he was making a grievous error.

The barbarian stood up and walked over to the toilet. Saul kept his head diverted, to give the barbarian some privacy. In a few minutes, he heard the shower running. The barbarian took a long shower and walked back, wearing a towel, to sit on his bunk, directly opposite of Saul, who was one meter away.

Saul looked at the shower to see the barbarian’s clothes had been washed in the shower and hanging to dry.

Saul asked, “Would you like to wear a uniform from the collective store?”

“Hell no, I’ve never worn tights in my life, and I am not going to start,” the barbarian said, leaving no room for negotiation.

Saul used a different approach to start the interview, “Can I get you something to eat?”

“No, I don’t want your wafers, laced with medicinals to make a man into a eunuch without passion or the desire to live life. No, I don’t want to be useless. I’ll starve, before I eat your wafers,” Bob said with more barbarian wildness.

Saul wanted to leave this uncouth wild-man, who seemed to be capable of extreme violence and emotion, but the Elites had chosen Saul because they thought he could salvage this barbarian. If he quit, he would be letting down the collective and admitting failure.

Saul decided to start over, “Excuse me, Bob, my name is Saul. I am here to help you transition into a productive future. The Omnipotent Elites have decided you could be a great benefit to the collective, but you must work with me, so I can help you prepare for the future.”


This time, the barbarian was not so quick with a reply. He stood-up and walked to the shower. Upon returning, Saul noticed Bob had a smaller towel tucked into the towel around his middle. He walked back and with a hand movement that was so fast, Saul could only see a vague image, but Bob had grabbed the tiny mic from Saul’s chest and wrapped it in the towel.

“Now, listen to me, you spineless wimp and I will give you the first useful knowledge of your pathetic life. The Elites you hold in such high regard don’t give a tinker’s damn about you. To them, your mind is an expensive organic computer chip. An electronic part so complex it can’t be simulated. You don’t get people ready to transition to a higher plane of existence: you prepare them for 40 years of being a part of a giant organic computer. Eventually, they want you to exist in an unconscious stupor, but they want your mind to do continuous algorithms at faster and faster speeds until it slows down or has a stroke, but that is no problem; the old worn-out bodies and brains are soon replaced by some naïve nitwit like you, who thinks he is transitioning to a higher plane of existence,” the barbarian finished and looked Saul in the eye.

Saul hesitated for a few seconds and said, “That is the most fanciful story I have ever heard. You barbarians have great imaginations.”

“You don’t have an imagination because each of you is force fed the same pabulum throughout your miserable lives. You all have the same common core of knowledge, just enough to keep the neurons firing between synapses, to prepare you for the forty years of round the clock drudgery ahead of you. They were worried about free-thinkers, who think objectively, messing up the programs. However, there are now glitches in the organic operating system and they think free-thinkers might be able to provide the solutions. That is why they are capturing men like me, to provide solutions rather than turning out the same answers indefinitely. The Elites have lost much of their intellect, incest and nepotism has its effects over generations. The running of this biosphere, the formulation of wafers, water, and power is all maintained and controlled by unconscious brain slaves. The Elites were once charismatic politicians who gained more and more control under the pretense of promoting the public-good. They maintained their wealth and prestige, while the drones slipped deeper and deeper into submission and stupidity.”

“Bob, you are a fantastic storyteller, and you are compelling,” Saul said, as if he were talking to a child.

“Look you simple little bastard, I can get us both out of this unholy hell hole, but I need a little help. If you help me, I will teach you to survive in the real world. Once you get off those wafers, you can find a wife and live life like a real man,” Bob said, with impatience.

“Bob, you seem to know all about the sphere, but I have lived my whole life in the sphere, and you have lived outside the sphere with Barbarians,” Saul said, with a condescending tone and a shrug of his shoulders.

“Saul, you have never seen these Elites who rule over you, and you have never met one.”

“And I assume you have?” Saul asked, what he assumed was a rhetorical question.

“Not exactly, but they have hunted me for sport, with dogs, airplanes, and sporting rifles,” Bob answered.

“That is the most preposterous thing I have heard in my life. The Elites are the most benevolent lovers of mankind we could ask for. They take care of our needs and shower us with kindness,” Saul said with hesitancy. His voice was losing its confidence. This barbarian was nothing like he expected. His responses were well reasoned and he made no effort to threaten or intimidate. He was brutally honest and extremely intelligent, but above all he seemed more alive than anyone he had ever met.

Cowboy Bob was different; of course, everyone in Saul’s world seemed to be exactly the same. Deviation is frowned upon by the Elites. All education is based on the same four core books and everyone listens to the same four stories, and everyone seems exactly the same. Cowboy Bob was really different. He was frightening, but Saul was beginning to like him as a friend.

There was no need to have friends in the dome, everyone was the same, and a conversation with one person could start or end with any other person, because every conversation was the same.

At home, Saul found his wife’s inane conversation to be boring; it was the same conversation she started every evening. Their conversation had been the same since Saul was assigned his wife mate. Tonight was different, while his wife was talking about the beautiful weather they were having in the biosphere, Saul stood and said, “I am going to bed early tonight.”

His wife looked puzzled and said, “Do you need a medication wafer? It will help if you are not feeling well. I take the red ones, when I am troubled. I take them all the time.”

Saul didn’t dislike his wife, but he realized he hardly knew this woman. He knew more about Cowboy Bob, than he knew about his wife. Saul looked his wife in the eye and said, “I feel fine and I don’t need medication.”

His wife’s eyes opened wide and she had a look of total shock and disbelief.

Saul walked to his room and realized his strange behavior would be reported to the Mirror Image this evening. His wife was a believer in talking to the mirror; he had heard her confessing to the mirror on many occasions.

Saul wrapped a mechanical pencil in several sheets of paper and secured it with a piece of electrical tape. Tomorrow, he would go to work with the little contraband package under his shirt.

This was a real crime against the Great Society, but Cowboy Bob was making him feel alive and interested in life. For the first time in his life he was conspiring and being politically incorrect and it was exciting.

He knew he had to report in to the Mirror Image or the Thought Police would visit him and maybe arrest him.

Saul walked up to the Mirror Image and saw a holograph of his own image smiling back at him. “Mirror Image, I am Saul, #1,092,847.”

Saul waited for the Mirror Image to speak, “Saul, you seem troubled, is something wrong in your perfect world? Are you bored with your wife? Are you having problems at work?”

Saul looked directly into the Mirror Image, “Oh no, my wife treats me like a citizen treats another citizen, there is no problem there; although, she wants me to eat more medication wafers, but I think they deprive me of my analytical abilities.”

The Mirror Image cut him off, “Saul, you must trust the medication wafers. They are designed to help you with everyday stress, and remember, we monitor your every move and would never let you overdose. Try to remember, an over emphasis on analytical skills helped bring about the collapse of the ancient regime. Now, tell me what is troubling you.”

Saul realized it was important to let the Mirror Image know he was troubled by the barbarism of Cowboy Bob, but that he felt he could delve deep into the psyche of Cowboy Bob to find important and relevant information, “Cowboy Bob is repulsive, but I am sure I can learn about these barbarians. In fact, I worry because of the immense importance of my work. I want to do a good job for the good of mankind.”

“Saul, you are worrying over nothing. You are considered the best man for the job; just remember, we watch your every move and we can help if you are in trouble. Now, get a good night’s sleep and face tomorrow with renewed vigor.” The image disappeared into a cloud of smoke and Saul breathed a sigh of relief.

This was risky business, Saul had friends disappear because they were being anti-social or because of expressing politically incorrect thoughts. The Thought Police were dangerous and more than willing to hurt you if you resisted. Saul had no scars and he had never broken a bone; the thought of being beat-up by the Thought Police and their clubs was terrifying.

The next morning, Saul showed Cowboy Bob the pencil and several sheets of paper and Cowboy Bob showed a slight nod of his head.

They talked for a while and Cowboy Bob pulled up a chair and small table close to his bed. He threw the blanket over his bed and the two pieces of furniture to make a replica of a tent.

Bob continued to talk about life beyond the dome, while he crawled under the tent. He used the seat of the chair and began to draw, while continuing to talk of life outside the dome. When he was finished drawing, he crawled out from under the child’s tent and whispered to Saul to see what life was like outside.

Saul crawled under the tent and saw the drawings. The first one showed a series of 30 shelves approximately two feet high. They were several miles long and each series of shelves was spaced eight feet apart. There was a type of clinic in the foreground and people in medical gowns were inserting narrow brain probes through the skulls of young people who were sleeping and naked. When the work was done the sleeping forms were placed on a conveyor belt. Computerized cranes picked up these sleeping bodies and slid into vacant spots on the shelves. The cranes would then connect the wires from the probes to a series of wires above each spot. Each human was floating in liquid and his or her bodies were sprayed with liquid periodically. A feeding was permanently inserted into their mouth and monitoring probes were attached to the chest. Each drawing portrayed another scene from this chamber of horrors.

Another overhead crane had a human riding a small platform above a large basket he was collecting old human forms whose brain functions had slowed. This man disconnected the probes and pulled the now semi-alert sleeping forms into a basket until it had a dozen or so elderly people.

The overhead crane would then be directed over a large conveyor belt and the bottom would be released, spilling the geriatric humans onto the conveyor. The conveyor led to the Grinder. This final destination would grind the humans and process them into different minerals and elemental chemicals to be used in sustaining the biosphere.

Cowboy Bob wrote above the last page, “This is the Next Level of Consciousness. A Transition Facilitator prepares people to enter into this Hell on earth without fear. You create an illusion then you send them on to be organic computer chips to control and power your biosphere, but more importantly the Utopian world of the Elites, who live in luxury. Turn this page over:

On the backside of the paper, the idyllic life of the Elites was portrayed. There were white sand beaches with resorts. There were sailing boats and fishing boats. The women all had fancy hairdos and were wearing skimpy two-piece suits, the men walked around sandals and shorts. These were all bizarre scenes for Saul to imagine, but the last scene was the most difficult to view. Elites were unloading from an early flying machine and walking into a village of barbarians. They were shooting everyone for sport.

Saul was speechless as he slid the drawings under his shirt, before leaving the makeshift tent. He was tempted to walk up to the nearest Mirror Image and tell the Mirror the Barbarian is a dangerous lunatic, but the longer he stayed away from the wafers, the more logical Cowboy Bob’s story seemed.

Cowboy Bob grabbed Saul by the arm and said, “We must leave tomorrow, if we wait, we will be too weak from hunger to escape.”

Saul looked at Cowboy Bob; Saul was afraid of the unknown and afraid of being deemed an undesirable by the Elites and judged to be unfit to pass into the next higher level of consciousness, but Cowboy Bob seemed resolute and fearless, like he had faced danger many times. If the next level of consciousness meant the elites were going to hardwire your brain, to use as a component of a gigantic organic computer for 45 years, it was hardly an honor to be chosen. He began to understand why the Elites only wanted right-thinking individuals for the next level; the undesirables would create havoc in the system with their deviant thinking.

“Have you seen the organic computer?” Saul asked.images

“I saw a video of the operation, twenty years ago. We viewed it to prepare for a mission to disrupt the process,” Cowboy Bob replied.

“But that would disrupt the utopian biosphere,” Saul said with indignation.

“It is a system designed to keep the Elites living in luxury; while you and millions other drones live in a bizarre fantasy world, waiting to serve as organic computer chips, for 45 to 50 years. It is the ultimate form of slavery, and you are worrying about me destroying it. Quit being a fool Saul. We can leave this madhouse and you can live like a free man for better or worse.”

Saul calmly said, “I think it is time for you to see our life in the biosphere, is there some type of scenery you would like to see?”

“I’d like to see the Conifer Park. I’ve heard it is beautiful,” Cowboy Bob said.

“Excellent choice, we can take the Zoomer and be there in minutes.”

While they were riding the Zoomer, Saul asked, “What was the result of you mission?”

“There were three of us. My partners were wounded, captured, tortured and killed. I escaped with my life. We accomplished nothing. The mission was a total failure.”

Saul asked, “How do you know they were tortured?”

“Because their bodies were dropped from one of the Elite airplanes. The fact that they were tortured was obvious.”

Saul was speechless. This information was too horrible to imagine. Staring into the eyes of Cowboy Bob, against all that he considered sacred, he realized Bob’s story was true.

The two men were building trust, but trust among adversaries is a risky business.

This fictional story was built upon America’s premise of a strong, but incompetent class of elites and their sense of entitlement and nepotism; they are winning the struggle for control of America’s citizenry, and they are importing new voters by the millions, and as long as they are gaining control, why should they restrain their ambition. The established opposition is complacent and willing to be accepted among America’s elites as the official opposition by offering no real opposition. The only challenge the elites have is the Constitutionalists. This rising tide of Constitutionalists consider freedom a sacred right. In this story, the freedom loving people have been banished from the Great Society and live a life of freedom outside of the virtual dome.

In the past thirty years, America’s technology has advanced from the rotary dial phone to the stage of having a computer in personal phones. This exponential technological advancement will continue, until the power of the organic computer chip or the human brain is unleashed.

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Great hearing back from you. Love your tales/analogies.

Shades of ‘1984’. Sounds just like the ancient story about ones jump down a jerry brownee “rabbit hole”.

Good read, Skook. Doesn’t it feel strange to feel like we’re getting really, really, close to this insane utopia-for-the-few, as we rush headlong, political correctness tucked under our arms, into an abyss no intelligent politician has the guts to identify?

A good and (clearly fictional) writing Skook, that I’m sure will lull leftist readers like Greg and John into happy, sugar-plum laced dreams of low information innocence.

I doubt however, the prophetic premise that Detroit could ever successfully transform into such a place, as the far-left urban jungle of such Democrat enclaves would more likely atrophy and degrade to a scarred, bloody hulk as the parasitic scavengers within violently feed on it’s host until little is left but fortresses of terrified shivering elite surrounded by the voracious entitlement-created predatory cannibal survivors of the socialist “utopian-nightmare” they created. We see this process already at work in places like Chicago and Ferguson.

Or were you saving that for when their drug induced veil is lifted?

Come on. We are there already.
The mind-numbed robots listen to Brian Williams and believe him. They listen to Al Sharpton and believe him. They believe in man-made climate change and autism caused by vaccines. They vote Democratic and suffer the economic consequences of these votes.
Evidence no longer matters; it is the implied authority of “experts” which matters. Sincerity oozes from the lying lips of King Putt, Earnest, Wiliams, and the rest of the gang. The only one who does not lie is John Stewart, who quite honestly portrays the fraud which is lame-stream media.
Now Hussein (PBUH) is going to regulate the internet, and bring our ability to connect with one another to an end. This regulation will, of course, be done in secret. See Mark Levin for details. Internet regulation is working quite well in China, where no revolution has started yet. China is overdue, based on Spengler.
We truly live in interesting times.

Once again, you’ve made my day. Great read Skook, as always. In your last reply, one can argue that in fact the “implosion” is taking effect as we watch. And to think that we as a people keep putting the very people responsible for this in charge and then blame everyone but themselves, the idiots who elected them for the carnage and worse.


I’m sure you know Skook that I was not tying to distract from your tale. I was just thinking of where our Democratic-held urban blighted cities and the inevitable entropy will lead them. I expect that a later chapter will have the mesmerized lefty enlightened after being hit hard with the truth.

while wondering what the answer is to the problem and if it is too late to reverse this malignant disease affecting our urban areas.

What is needed (IMO) is to return the US to an industrial manufacturing economy, but that will likely also require small business owners to kick the establishment-globalists out of their Chamber of Commerce leadership and supporting the opponents of their crony back-pocket politicians.