From: intraphase@gmail.com

Jacob Dylan - We Could Be Heroes
https://youtu.be/uDiXqjwb7Sg


THE THOUGHT POLICE - Reoccurring Theme As Structure Icon


Chapter 1

It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking
thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his
breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly
through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not
quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering
along with him.
The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At
one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display,
had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous
face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of
about forty-five, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly
handsome features. Winston made for the stairs. 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. The flat was seven flights up,
and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer
above his right ankle, went slowly, resting several times on
the way. On each landing, opposite the lift-shaft, the poster
with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It was one of
those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow
you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING
YOU, the caption beneath it ran.


(...)


Outside, even through the shut window-pane, the world
looked cold. Down in the street little eddies of wind were
whirling dust and torn paper into spirals, and though the
sun was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed
to be no colour in anything, except the posters that were
plastered everywhere. The black moustachio’d face gazed
down from every commanding corner. There was one on
the house-front immediately opposite. BIG BROTHER IS
WATCHING YOU, the caption said, while the dark eyes
looked deep into Winston’s own. Down at street level another
poster, torn at one corner, flapped fitfully in the wind,
alternately covering and uncovering the single word INGSOC.
In the far distance a helicopter skimmed down
between the roofs, hovered for an instant like a bluebottle,
and darted away again with a curving flight. It was the police
patrol, snooping into people’s windows. The patrols did
not matter, however. Only the Thought Police mattered.

--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
* Origin: www.darkrealms.ca (1:229/2)