Day 24

I am back at this Chestnut Tree... Africa in its struggles. The telescreens, how I had awaited for the Bullitens. Julia, oh Julia, how I missed her so... But were we meant to be forever? We only talked for so much, but yet so little. She betrayed me, I betrayed her. She was my mirror. Two plus Two always equals five. Oh Mother... The memory of Mother, of the past. Snakes and Ladders. Laughter, with the sister. Laughter with my mother. Myself enjoying laughter. The family together... My struggles were complete. My journey was complete... "With my clean freedom, it shall lift my sorrows, my bottle, never empty, for it will be my gin. With this mind, it shall light my way in darkness. With the poster of Big Brother and the telescreens, I ask you to be mine."

Day 23

This entire time, I was in a building. A building of pure punishment and cells, with no windows.
What was in Room 101? O'Brien, his pure torture. He says I already knew what was inside this torture room... Rats. Full grown rats, with enormous muzzles and brown fur instead of gray. The ancient Chinese torture... Why? A body replacement, a body of escape... Julia. Julia! I was able to let go of everything, to let go of Julia, for my own safety! What selfishness... Pure selfishness. I am part of pure society... This is my own route... to cleanliness.

Day 22

My arms, my thighs, my body, they grow fat and muscle! The Party was feeding me, with even meat at every third meal! What is this? Why were they keeping me healthy? They even gave me cigarettes, to feed my need and desire. My desire, a thoughtcrime. They would feed my thoughtcrime? Freedom is slavery, two and two make five, god is power. Everything the Party says is so true. Julia, Julia! Where could she be? Hallucinations they call it, I call it faith. My rebellious thoughts on Big Brother, O'Brien was able to hear me... he sent me to Room 101. They can keep me for another couple of minutes, or another couple of years.

Day 21

O'Brien, a lecture. What have I done to deserve this? His avoidance of the dial, able to turn it up at any given time his heart contents... pure madness. Everything I say is falsified. The logic of science, the history of life, the life outside of memories, all wrong? How could that be? Does two plus two still equal four? The purpose of life, according to O'Brien, is to have power... complete power. I am the last of the human race, is that possible? What happened to Julia? She could not be dead... I did not betray her, I couldn't have! Is this world found only by hatred, with no emotions except fear, rage, triumph, and self-abasement? My reflection, how have I aged... I was in the Party's hands as captive for way too long, beyond too long. I look like I have aged nearly two decades! In the end, I still get shot... The last thing I want, desire, and ask for is to hear the sound of the bang bang.

Day 20

Where am I? I was in a room, an isolated room, on a bed of torture... Pure torture. That switch, of electrical torture... The men in white coats. O'Brien, what was he? Was he part of the Brotherhood? or was he of a high class hierarchy of the Party? He watched me for the past 7 years, and have not said anything. He did not care of my crimes... not my crimes... but my thought-crimes. How did he possess so much power? Did the Brotherhood exist? Did I exist? Did History exist? Did Big Brother exist? Where has common sense gone to... What happened to my dearest Julia? He could not have killed her, he could not have... I suffer for the following days to come, and my journey, comes to a near end.

Day 19

Oh this horror, this darkness... A jail cell, of the Thought-Police. What have I gotten myself into? The telescreen, giving such demanding orders, the sound of boots... The thought of torture, what need to rid. Could I have met my mother? She fit all of the criteria... Ampleforth... this innocent member... Would he have really given up his entire family to avoid 'Room 101'? What is this room anyway? I am so lost, for the thought of the word became a disastrous poison to the mind. Parsons, he too? Of the Brotherhood? So many people I have met have become part of this rebellious club... Was everyone in the Brotherhood? Did everyone think like the Brotherhood? Was everyone the Brotherhood? O'Brien... he got caught. He must have been caught by his telescreen when he turned it "off". I knew it was impossible to turn off the telescreen. My arm, my left arm... I lay on this ground, perceiving myself to be... in oh so much pain.

Day 18

I woke up to that woman's singing... the one outside... Who knew a 50 year old could be oh so beautiful, even with wrinkles and such a body. Everyone was equal, everyone was the same... Why is this not interpreted? We were being watched... By the Thought-Police! The telescreen, it spoke to us, what is going on? Julia, no, the men in black, no the coral! So small, but appeared so large within the glass paperweight... Mr. Charrington, that voice on the telescreen... the Thought Police. He spoke to us through this telescreen, I knew i recognized his voice... Everyone was the enemy... everyone. He looked so old, but was so young... The Thought-Police. I have lost my dear Julia.

Day 17

Oh this book... This book of the Brotherhood... What lies inside? Nothing but a bunch of thoughts and ideas I have already had acknowledged... The Party controls all, the history, the people, the rankings, the hierarchy: from the High, to Middle, to Low... What must I learn? Chapters 1 and 3 are beyond too similar, for they share my common knowledge... Oh Julia, why does she not stay up to read? Is she not ready to pursue this challenge? Joining the Brotherhood? We were only apart for a week, and she could not handle it. Oh this silence... No answer, only slight breathing... I pull these covers and rest, beginning my journey in the Brotherhood.

Day 16

O'Brien's mansion... the room. the dark room. Where we met... Julia and I joined the Brotherhood. Never keeping the same hideout... consistently changing... consistently changing our appearance... only knowing a very few people of the Brotherhood, never knowing of the true amount of members... Sacrificing everything... everything. Not being able to see Julia again, what a risk we had to take... to save this community of the Inner Party... The wine, oh the wine, never to be seen in my entire life. Disappointment what-so-ever... No taste, due to my years of pure gin. Being able to murder people, being able to manipulate children, being able to sacrifice my life, being able to surrender to foreign power, being able to confess all known when found... everything had to be sacrificed. O'Brien's servent even was part of this... Inner Party members... were they part of this organization as well? How many were there? O'Brien knew the last line... When I grow rich, say the bells of Shoreditch. My journey only begins.

Day 15

I dreamt, of my mother... My mother, my sister... Chocolates... Selfishness... Raids... Yelling... Arguments... Nagging... Food... so much food... my thought-crime of act, desperation, took over my youth: making me take my sister's food, my mother's food... Making them starve... I was not only "the boy"... I was "the monster". Able to take my sister's chocolate, when I already got 3/4.... What was wrong with me? Not listening to my mother... Such a rebel. They had disappeared... Where did they go? Did they really die? Did they get sent to a labor camp? This is madness... I cannot remember... Them being gone all the time at the house, was becoming too common... What have I done? Why has my memory failed me? The proles are human beings... I am not human... We are not human. What I did... did not matter... What I felt, did. Julia says the Party can change my words, but cannot change my thoughts, thought-crimes... Entitled to my opinions. The Ministry of Love, they could have everything there, drugs, tortures... Dreams are forever.

Day 14

O'Brien, we had finally met. At last we were face to face... was he a spy? I could not speak to someone of the Inner Party. He wanted to talk to me... to tell me that I used words that have become obsolete in the 10th edition of Newspeak dictionary? We were still using the 9th! I am only an amateur, nothing of skill, but yet I made a magnificent article that he must have loved... but a signal, a signal of his communication to Syme? But Syme had become vanished... destroyed... he had become an unperson. There was no way he could have communicated with Syme, alone. He offered to give me the new edition of the 10th Newspeak dictionary... He wrote of his address, with everyone being able to see what he wrote... for the telescreen to be able to see everything he wrote on that slip of paper. If he was not home, his servant would give it to me... where would he be? He knew I was going to come, but he says he might not be home... planned? My walk into a grave... my grave.

Day 13

Syme has vanished... ceased to exist. All of history, changed... destroyed? lost? Hate Song... for Hate Week. The poster... the new poster all around London. The muzzle of the gun, always watching me... Always pointing at me. Julia, our sweating bodies, our torn clothes, our hiding spot... our home. Meeting 7 times in June... beautiful security. The route to our home... dangerous and deadly, but the home: sanctuary. The runway to Heaven. The paperweight, the pink coral... all stopped in time and history. Live my life with Julia, the rest of my life, forever. Doing everything together, always being together. Rebelling against the Party... what was our first step? It was impossible... She says everyone secretly hates the Party... Oh so true? The daily bombing... was it Oceania itself? Impossible... or the Party: claiming to invent the helicopter, then the airplane... what next?... the steam engine? One war after another... does it matter who we are allies with, than who we were allies with? No connection to the Inner Party... Bless the later generations.

Day 12

My heart, racing... conscious, gratuitous, suicidal folly. Privacy, oh what a valuable thing to cherish. The temptation of a hiding place, a place to meet her... the Desire. Was Julia cheating on me? Am I only saying that because she said she had to cancel our plans? Our hands... they met, her touch, her soft skin... I can't get her out of my head! Her beautiful touch, her kiss, all desired... all thought-crime. Her coffee... her real coffee. The real sugar, the white bread, the rare food only amongst the Party... Her face, the beautiful face... with make up. Nobody in the Party wore make up... nobody. Her plans to steal clothes... delicious. Our act, the act we committed, the political act, so illegal, but desirable. Rats, disgusting rats, the thought of rats, pure gore. The coral... what was it? What did it stand for? Our love? Our relationship?... Us? It was so old... "Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clement's! You owe me three farthings, say the bells of St. Martin's. When will you pay me? say the bells of Old Bailey... Here comes a candle to light you to bed, here comes a chopper to chop off your head!" She did not even know what a lemon looked like.

Day 11

Julia and I could never meet in the same place twice... but only after a few months. Always giving a new location to where to meet, to date. Never allowed to go home the same way as departured. She did not care for reading... working in the Fiction department... ironic. How she hated the Party... Marry her? impossible. She was too young. Even if Katherine disappeared, impossible, just simply impossible. If only she didn't call it "our duty to the party"... I could have stood our political act. How did Julia know so much?... School. The impulse of sex was dangerous... especially to the Party. The way Julia put the definition of sex... so true. Oh the connection between chastity and political orthodoxy. The way children were now adays.. becoming spies of the Party, ratting their parents, concluding the family of being an entire Thought-Criminal Family. What madness is this? Why did I just shove Katherine off of that cliff? Julia would have done it... Why couldn't I? No sense anymore, for the bomb has killed Julia.

Day 10

The Date... The Date. The danger of microphones, hidden microphones, able to hear everything I did, I did with Julia, the dark-haired girl. Was she on to me? I told her my thoughts, my thought-crimes, on her... a spy, a murderer, a stalker, my next victim. She is observant, able to pick out those that do not belong... How was that? Why was that? She knew I was against them... How? She had to be on to me of some way. She was so careful of someone watching, we had to commit the political act in the bough, the "secret" bough. Oh how good it felt, how amazing she was... The more men she had, the more fun I got out of it... With those of other Party members... Why was that? 15 years younger than I was... Why? Purity, goodness... all too fake, all too unreal. Everyone is supposed to be corrupt to the marrow of their own bones! She had flaws, even for the perfection she is... The battle I fought, the act I have committed, the dream of the past, has become my action.

Day 9

There goes that dark-haired girl.. once again. Is she a spy? What a common accident in the Fiction Department, ironic. Was she watching me? Was she stalking me? The letter she gave me... "I love you." Thought-crime... Was she toying with me? Did she earn the right to do such of a political act? We passed each other, but with no word... What is this supposed to mean? Why? Was it safe to approach? Not until others have... The need for conformation, the need for assurance. Everyone treated oh so differently... Eurasians, Eastasians, treated like animals. What was this? Why was this? The date... How nervous of me... The Date. The location, How do I remember. The date... The crowd, oh the crowd. The expression of love, what an act, a thought-crime. In the crowd... In this devoted gesture. Her eyes brown... the gorgeous brown. The stares, the bad romance.

Day 8

If there is hope, it lies in the Proles... If there is hope, it lies in the Proles... If there is hope, it lies in the poverty. The bomb... The bomb... The glass that fell upon me. The black smoke, the hand, what a common sight. The old man in the pub, the pub... I ask: is it better now than before? is it better now than before? What was the answer? So much alcohol, my money, my gin. Desperate I tell you, desperate. Desperate for history, a sign, a past... an answer. The antiques... history written all over it. The coral... the pink coral inside the curved arch of the glass ball, in the antique shop. the Coral. The antique, the history. This old man, no telescreen. No telescreen at all, too expensive? A farthing... The history of their people. "Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clement's, You owe me three farthings... here comes a candle to light you to bed, Here comes a chopper to chop off your head."

Day 7

Hope... If there exists such an emotion... must lie in the Proles, and Proles only. It has to lie there! Woman's voices... as I walk down the street. Why has the Party made Proles feel so naturally weak and down-graded? inferior? Oh Proles, what poor social level they have been put in. "Proles and animals are free" is what the Party had put it. Lies? the Truth? Capitalists, slave owners... Horse owners... the Rich. Owning all of the houses, owning all of the land, owning all of the people on it, owning all of the money, owning all of the factories. Kings of these people, the torture they would experience of the political act of disobedience. Proles only increased after the Revolution. Why? The Party's hold against the past was less strong, only because of the potential to rid of it? Everything could be changed, date, time, picture, frame,... everything. Why? Two plus two equals four... The freedom.

Day 6

Why can I not remember? Why?! So stressful. So frustrating. It's making me go mad! The temptation, the torture, the schedule... frustration. Her going into the bed, the bed in the basement, the bed against the wall. Prostitution... I couldn't. Oh, the illegal thought-crime I could get myself into right now. What a shame. The eroticism... the enemy, within and outside of a marriage. Sexual intercourse... be said of such horror and disgusting operation? a horror of the natural body? I do not understand. Oh Katherine... how long has it been? 8-10 years ago? Only 15 months... No divorce. No children. Your forcefulness to schedule our love, to schedule the baby, to schedule the process. What lust, what irony. 50 years old? old... Gray hair, what was that? I did the same as I usually did, and yet no child. Desire is of thought-crime? Must we become robots I sit here and destroy the Party policy.

Day 5

Oh my "friend" Syme, or should I say comrade... Razor Blades... Razor Blades... Razor Blades... Why does everyone ask me for razor blades? they do not exist! Getting Newspeak into its final shape... to change the world by storm, The Eleventh Edition? Impossible to obliterate so many words before 2050... Just impossible. What a waste words are... Oh how the destruction of words gives me so much pleasure, similar to the destruction of history. Such a waste of the use of synonyms... not needed. very good, more good, so good. This Syme, beyond smart, too smart for my intelligence. Only a few cigarettes left to spare... Why is everyone so ugly? So many flaws when staring... Is there ever a perfect person? Not possible... Mrs. Paron's children will become the vaporizers of the future, ridding of most of the comrades I knew, for thought-crime. And yet, I still commit the crime of the mind.

Day 4

This cubicle, oh so isolated. Changing history... the things people have done... my alterations could become facts, even when false. Oh Big Brother, I could change your past. All of history, in my hands, were to become scrape clean. Delete, Change, Burn, or Destroy the hard work of history. The flaws of slips, errors, misprints, misquotations, must be put to right for the "truth". How I loathe the truth. Who is this Tillotson? The Records Department... more like the silence department. No social atmosphere. Deleting people who have become 'vaporized', disappearing out of thin air... what is this? Never spoken again... how haunting this seems. People of disagreement of The Party became vaporized... killed? moved? what? Being able to change everything to anything you wanted, to keep the company happy, enjoyment is all I feel, although very tedious. I sit here and smoke my cigarette...