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#RTE: Bayley says if they cut down all the cheese she won't be able to go on holiday, and she loves her holidays. I don't think I want to be on holiday for ever, definitely not with Bayley.
The Prof says the adoration of Bayley challenges previous commitments to pacifism and has moved to the dark side. No internet connection and no cameras. Sounds scary.
The Prof says there must be ways off the island, but doesn't seem unduly concerned with thoughts of outside contact or escape. The dark side of the island is the place for the disappeared, those who've been wiped from the recording. Collective amnesia is a choice, not a disease. The Prof is fond of saying stuff like that.
Condemned to a life of exile amongst the criminally inane and vacuous before the age of 30, it is like Logan's Run meets The Truman Show, they said. More like Groundhog Day meets Big Brother, from the classic novel not the TV.
"If it was already on the telly, what did they do a book for? That's just stupid," says Bayley, who should know.
I chose to come alone, like most. I say alone, but I'm not on my own. There're hundreds of us here, but we're kept apart and only allowed to "see" others on #SnapCrap.
Bayley and her "friends", and all those who have yet to feel the fence, remain in denial. The Prof says she's incapable of intelligent self-deceit, so by that rationale she must truly believe there're two million people hanging on her every word.
"There're people in Save The Cheese
t-shirts around the perimeter," says Bayley.
"The electrified fence?"
"They skim off the whey and make bio gas."
"So, you're telling me they make electricity from methane and carbon dioxide from cheese."
"Fazakerley. And why’d they waste all that lecky on a fence, div. We live on a island, case you hadn't noticed."
Last night the whirr of generator from the dark side disturbed. An unmistakable sound. Less distinct sounds have been even more audible. I once heard a woman's scream, but it could equally have been an ape.
And there're the currents. They're extremely strong. It never drops below 20-21 degrees in winter, and never reaches more than 30-35 degrees in summer. It rains just enough to grow food, but it doesn't rain that much. And the vegetation is lush and the animal life diverse.
The big problem is Bayley and her fan club. I wish I was Dr Doolittle. Those orang-utans seem intelligent creatures. Bayley says she doesn't like tangerines, too many pips.
The lack of human intellect crushes your spirit. Stamps on your hope like a Monty Python foot. All your dreams of escape, of sharing a joke, or a clever idea. Splatt! Only the truly beautiful count. The ugly must make their way to the backside of the island.
The implants are supposed to be able to read our minds. RTE, (Recorded thought entertainment) it's called. The idea of someone else's thoughts as a form of entertainment. Can't see it myself. Bayley'd drive you looney.
"Who's Logan? And why can't he lend Truman's shoes?, she asks, looking a million dollars and sounding like two short ones. Wish I wasn't one of the pretty...
*Over on the dark side, the Professor kisses the face of the fetish she has fashioned. She has had an interesting idea. “Bio gas! Girl's an absolute genius. Much misunderstood. Tragic waste of brains.”
* Original Alt-Patriarchal Ending: Over on the dark side, the Professor wrings the neck of the fetish he has fashioned from spite and bile. "Bio-gas! Girl's a danger to us all. Thankfully, they all think she's the Miss South Carolina of Merseyside."
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