Keeping Up Appearances

Arnold had become a hollow shell with a faded surface. 

Now that he hit eighty Arnold believed it was vital to keep up appearances—how he wanted to be seen rather than how he was, to appear as he once was and wanted to be.  It had zero to do with being handsome or well clothed.  Appearance was everything when being with other people.  He wanted respect, not worry. 

In mornings, after he woke and took his eight pills, he put in his teeth.  It was hardly normal to smile with teeth missing.  He combed his hair over the large bald spot.  Looking at himself in the mirror, he straightened, adjusting his shoulders.  Put in his hearing aides.  Tightened his belt to lessen his pot belly.  Put on his distance glasses, reading glasses in his shirt pocket. 

He pretended to be energetic and engaged.  Avoided long outings at a theatre because he might fall asleep–he hated falling asleep in front of other people, unaware of their stares, grins, sighs.  People expected perky and positive–and awake.  Arnold had to still be Arnold. 

It was a lot of work, depressing and he kept getting older.  Eventually Arnold invested in a synthetic skin.  Covering every part of his body, including his face, it invisibly zipped up in the back.  He looked like he was forty-five.  When he met people wearing the suit, they complimented him on how great he looked.  “The plastic looks real,” they told him.    

Arnold knew he lived an allegory.  Outside he was fit, inside a wreck.  Still, the shell was easier than putting in his teeth and it was machine washable. 

Presenting War

Mike was a professional comedian with a late-night TV show.  His nation was at war, he was there to entertain.  Drones attacking, bombs dropping, many killed (mostly innocent civilians.)  Wasn’t it time for a laugh?  What was funny about war, Mike asked himself (and his writers)? 

Watching buildings blow up may be fun but was not funny.  Mike knew all we see of war is stuff being blown up.  Looking at corpses and the wounded was far from funny, so you never saw it, neither in the mainstream nor nonmainstream media.  Certainly not on Mike’s TV show.    

Politicians running wars are often funny.  You could joke about them.  The President waging war was often hilarious (unintentionally).  His armed forces “obliterated” another nation’s nuclear capabilities, then eight months later he launched an air assault because the same nation was one week from building an atom bomb.  It would be funnier if there were not dead people rotting under his use of “obliterate.”   

Mike could hardly joke about servicepeople risking their lives.  And making funnies about the other nation’s dead servicepeople felt beyond the pale.  Mike decided there was nothing funny about war and instead offered his audience what the politicians themselves offered to the public: a nightly song about the war, followed by dancing soldiers (the women in heels.)   

Monsters From The ID

Deep within us our IDs lurk.  IDs, the primitive beast from whom we evolved, the beast waiting to be free, yearning to be unleashed.  We are unaware until it emerges–not even then.  It is not us but makes us it.  The ID beast is freed by anger, lust and other strong emotions–behind them all, power.  Power enables its brutality.  IDs create wars.

Professor Krell, an expert in psychology, thoroughly understood the ID.  Newly employed by the government, his role was to keep lusts for power limited.  It was tough work but someone had to do it.  Professor Krell’s own ID loved it, thriving in the midst of power.  He suppressed urges to encourage war, to pass damaging legislation.  His work conflicted with his conscience. 

He already had a difficult personal life, the only area he could channel his own aggression.  His relationships rarely lasted more than a few months.  His partners found it difficult living with the Beast.  And it now grew worse.  Living alone yet again, he had no outlet.  Every day at work was dominated by temptation.  He began to think of evil things he could manipulate the government officials into doing, or simply not prevent. 

Professor Krell fled to a small Caribbean island where no one lived, there was no internet, barely a dock for a small boat.  He could not be corrupted here!  He was safe!  He would no longer have to struggle to suppress his inner beast.    

They followed him. 

Egos were running amuck without his assistance.  A war was certain to be launched.  Forced by his conscience to return to work his conscience dreaded, Professor Krell felt unpleasantly aroused.  War was hard to resist when you did not have to fight yourself.    

Waiting For Better Weather

In her twenties, Angela worked hard and was overdue for a promotion—but there was always tomorrow.  She went through relationships, never finding the right partner—but there was always tomorrow.  She was bored—but there was always tomorrow.  Angela always waited for better weather.  Better weather whether going for a walk, shop, drive, lunch in the park.  Tomorrow would always be better: warmer, sunnier, successful. 

Angela grew tired of waiting for tomorrow.  Tomorrow came every day yet never arrived at all.  Not the right tomorrow.  So Angela, with a team in the lab she worked at, invented a time machine.  She would see what her future held.  She entered the machine and set it for one year in the future.  There was a bright flash.  She stepped out and saw the lab—almost exactly as it had been a year earlier.  And she had been demoted and was an intern. 

Angela stepped back into the machine. 

She set it five years farther into the future and pressed the red button.  Another bright flash and she stepped out of the machine.  Her lab was gone, replaced by a large open space office with workers in cubicles.  She saw herself in one of the cubicles, answering customer questions. 

She returned to the machine.  Her tomorrows were not working out as she’d hoped–and expected.  She thought of venturing another five years into the future—reluctant, she pressed the button, closing her eyes during the flash.  She stepped out and saw the office had become an Armed Forces recruiting centre.  There was a poster of herself, in uniform: Follow her leadership, she served her country.  Apparently, she had been killed in action.   

Angela reset the time machine to when she started plus one minute, then pressed the red button.  She was back in her old lab.  She saw herself standing next to the machine, with her co-workers.  Because two of Angela could not exist in the same time, they merged.  The merged Angela deliberately broke her finger badly, so it was amputated so she could not be drafted in a future unjust war, instead finding a life that concentrated on today. 

The World Belongs To The Old?

The world belongs to the young?  Nope.  Franklin believed the world belonged to no one in the long term—but the old had the best shot.  Belongs is about power and control.  To people who have been there and know what to do about it.  The young have energy and optimism.  The old have pills and money. 

Franklin was 80 and had reached a crucial threshold–the world should (by now) be his!  Yes, he had prostate cancer, hopefully healed by pills and chemo.  Sure, he had blood pressure problems, treated by pills and walking (though arthritis made walking painful plus he ran out of breath after two blocks.)  Franklin knew the young had problems more severe yet they had decades to solve their problems–his time was limited and problems insoluble, all he had was hope. 

Their future was limitless, if occasionally bleak.  He had medical problems which could not be fixed, they had debt which could be repaid.  Well, maybe the world did belong to the young, but only their world.  Franklin was meaningful in his world.  The comparison was pointless.  The world belongs neither to the young nor old but to those who do not give up. 

We Need To Buy

Mitchell had a laptop that was slow, so he bought a second.  The second was better, but the third had a chip, the fourth more Ram, while the fifth’s display was 18.5 inches.

Mitchell was an ideal consumer.  He had a new car with a gas engine that required premium.  He regularly changed his nonstick pans, twice upgraded his TV.  Mitchell’s favourite pastime was browsing online and purchasing stuff.  Sometime purchases because they could be useful, like the little round robot vacuum that kept getting stuck under the couch.    

He maintained a credit card debt.  When the debt built up, he took a loan to repay it.  But the debts grew again because there was always something new to try, better to buy, he could never say bye-bye.  He only had a one room apartment, so he rented storage lockers.  He bought colorized movies.  Because buying means never saying good-bye.  Because our society was gradually established not on growing your own food or creating your own goods, but by first bartering and then purchasing what you needed, gradually what you wanted, gradually what you thought it would be good to own.    

Mitchell knew a large portion of his life was dedicated to helping the economy continuously grow, that he was a cog in a money machine. 

Everyone needs meaning in their life.    

Society wondered how low it could sink.  Over the eons, Society certainly had its hills and valleys.  As did Culture.  There had been glorious periods of development, at times lasting decades.  And there had been the inglorious periods of bread and circuses, of inquisitions, at times lasting decades.  Still, considering their worst lows, Society and Culture agreed: today sucked. 

Today, more than ever, arts were commercial and repetitive.  Partly that was because in the digital age nothing was lost.  Paintings and statues no longer were the cornerstone of preservation.  There was innovation but competing against the classics was difficult.  The sole advantage Culture had these days was new, but new reflected society, which was either static or in turmoil.  As was Culture: the arts were dominated by horror stories. 

Culture reflected Society.  Society had always been about who had and who had not, with God on the nation’s side.  Winners of wars always had God on their side.  Today Society was overwhelmed by greed, indulgence a close second.  Society felt it was so shallow it had become a wading pool for infantile adults. 

Society and Culture knew tomorrow could easily be worse than today.  They looked for Hope.

They had not heard recently from Hope and had to search.  They found it on the roof of a skyscraper, trying to see stars through the smog.  Hope said it had been dreaming of a colony on Mars.  They agreed something was needed.  What Hope could inspire Society and Culture and stop all of them sliding down the steep slippery slope?  

Hope suggested having people think: do babies make war?  No.  They represent hope.  Society and Culture spread the word through the arts and news clips.  Soon everyone asked, do babies make war?  Everyone agreed: no. 

The overwhelming response was preschool military academies.    

Society and Culture joined Hope on the rooftop, looking at the stars.

Better Drones

Arnold was a top military researcher.  He knew missiles and drones could be disrupted electronically and miss their targets.  A better idea than a computer-controlled drone was a drone with a human strapped into it, controlling its flight.  Arnold developed drones and missiles with small cockpits–only children could fit in. 

Arnold had lengthy talks with military leaders he reported to about using children to pilot drones.  Their chief concern was that children were too inexperienced.  Arnold replied they could be easily trained.  And only children would fit in the cockpits.  And that working the controls was like playing a video game. 

They settled on undersized fourteen-year-olds. 

The training was simple: buttons to push, lights flashing in them when ready.  All they had to do was follow the moves in the video game they’d played.  The steering wheel worked when electronic interference occurred.  A drone could be piloted straight to target.  The military leaders did not mind it was a one-way trip for the child.  Nor did the parents, who saw it as patriotic, plus there was a big signing bonus. 

The first test was on a drug running speedboat.  Johnny was the pilot and the strike was a brilliant success.  His parents received a big mortality bonus and a statue of him was erected in the capital. The public loved the idea of patriotic sacrifice.

Society has always honoured its fallen warriors.  It is an important part of war. 

Peace And Modern Technology

Peace was upset.  It felt ignored, neglected, a forgotten afterthought.  The world’s attention was focussed on bombs and guns and the flames of death.  Even language had changed.  World leaders used to sound regretful when launching attacks.  Now they spoke joyfully about power, about the greatness of their weapons and troops.  The latest war, in the Middle East, was the worst.  Peace had to do something—but what?

Peace consulted with its equals.  Envy, Lust, Ego and Id were in a happy place.  Not to mention Temptation (although we are)–it was thrilled, fulfilled.  Anger could not attend, too busy.  Society, as usual, was willing to go with the flow.  Culture was the sole protestor, if inconsistent.  Peace found little consolation, much less help. 

The difficulty, Peace decided, was that armed conflict had become both too easy and too distant.  Death came at a distance, through bombs, drones and missiles.  And there were no videos of soldiers being wounded.  When a drug running speedboat was destroyed, people were alarmed because one video showed two survivors–who were then killed.  Public support is strongest when a war’s results are not shown.

Peace needed a solution.  Lousing up military technology was it.  Peace concentrated on the scientists and bureaucrats who ran military technology programmes around the world, imbuing them with the desire for Peace.  Their work on modern technology dwindled.  The strategy worked.  When the world’s leaders depleted their stockpiles of advanced weapons, wars became  person-to-person conflicts with swords.  Shown on TV, wars finally became unpopular.

Peace watched, pleased: still conflict, but definitely a return to better days.