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No part of this poetry should be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author, Joe DiMino, who retains all rights: contact

"Nineteen Eighty-four" (by Joe DiMino)

It’s not what you do
But the way
You screw them;
Not what you say
But the way
It is said—
If said with a Charmer’s smile
(Suspend and beguile),
They hear it as their own voice—
If said with just the right pleasing tone
It will sound
Their song of life…putty
In our hands of orchestration
For State transformation…

Control what they hear and see—Hell!
Even what they smell—get the team
Working on Smell-a-vision—new industry
For the new economy/dichotomy (Oh yes! Still keep them divided):
Even more so—tell them what they must talk about
At breakfast tables, prelude for only our Condoned-speech
In their own homes (not really theirs anymore)
(We already listen to their phones—laugh at their silly freedom poems);
Manufacture more waste entertainment, sanctioned Prosperity-paste contrived
by the State);
New Pageantry floats;
Huge screens for them to bellow
Our State-approved notes;
Paint their children in clown faces—
No need for mass lobotomy;
When we get through brainwashing
There will be nothing left but space
Between their ears—
Mindless place
To be electronically digitized
For Simple-servant needs (automation will handle the Big-stuff)—Life is High Definition,
Magnetic collars—
They can dance
But guess WHO always leads?

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