Title 15, Section 45(c)

Just the … §15:45c

All these lofty slogans about freedom of speech were just a spectacle, she concluded. They must all have permits… or there was — her brain suddenly taking a detour through some very particular cerebral convolutions — law, complete with loops and loopholes — herein something else going on. Her parents would have been proud. Contemplating this, her internal counsel, one Orwell, popped up in her mind, offering unsolicited advice on the applicable precedents. The pieces started to come together. Let’s see… how to phrase it. She cleared her throat.

“Title 15, Section 45(c), Public Market Harmonization and Citizen Conduct Ordinance.”

“You said?” Double Ception interrupted her thoughts. Very rude — in her mind, especially realizing that her mouth had a tendency of almost speaking by itself when least expected. Not in the gag sense of way, more like the blithering idiot kind of way.

Rummaging for an answer, she quickly found one. “Just some private filing. For the record.”

“Oh, I am most sorry. I fully understand. Administrative matters are of the utmost importance. Please proceed, subject to my temporary withdrawal.” Almost embarrassed, Double Ception gave her some space, dislodged his head, and put it in the briefcase. Some kind of special feature, she supposed — an accessory compliant with ergonomic legislation, no doubt. Relieved, she went back to her Orwellian scriptures, annotations, or whatever legal commentary one might call them.

Hmmm, where was I? Yes — the ordinance.

“When and where commercial interests are found to coincide with, and demonstrably advance the objectives of the greater good,” that’s it, and… “temporary suspension of gag enforcement may be granted,” but there must be a catch as well, like…

“provided such removal is strictly limited to the facilitation of lawful and necessary transactions and” ending with some dodgy wording that is totally up to interpretation…

“is deemed to fall within the benevolent reach of the invisible hand.”

Why Adam Smith decided to show up at the end, Babe had no clue, but then she remembered that she had prided herself on knowing her enemy — just as Sun Tzu had advised her in Chapter 3, Verse 18. Maybe law was still a career option after all.

On second thought, such scriptures would unlikely withstand peer review in a transparent and democratic society — which, prima facie, this least resembled. She shook it off, and after this small excavation of law, looked closer at those parties involved in the transactions mentioned, reminding herself that from now on she should use a language less haughty and more in line with public voice. Hence, the return of the blithering idiot, as her mind chose a loop, more or less out of random, speaking what sounded like words of wisdom. She prided herself of that too. Well, who doesn’t?

“Melting wax and feathers. Do not venture too close to the sun, where oppression hides in clear sight.”

So much for that resolution, she thought, relieved that someone still had his head buried in the briefcase. Her proclivity for crafting sentences no one could understand pressed on — unstoppable. What to do? Fortunately, the body is somehow tied to the brain — alas, not for everyone. She gave herself a slap on the cheek.

“Wake up!” And that seemed to do the trick. At least it made Double Ception’s head peek up out of the briefcase, checking if the coast was clear. They met in a nod of shared awareness, filing finished, and soon the head, so delicately removed, was reinstated in its proper place.

Finally, attention returned to the transactionists moving about the shop, in and out. Then the next cerebral loop kicked in, uninvited of course: Some kind of ballet. Definitely not Swan Lake, but a ballet just the same; a financial ballet, with puppets serving a hidden puppet master. Speech did not disturb the performance; it was part of the choreography, or the music, more like. Merely the utterance of approved sounds, stripped of meaning, echoing the hollow pulse of finance itself — and, she now realized, blending with the ever-present hum of surveillance. A very particular kind of music indeed.

Here, speech was clearly decoupled from what was done, and most likely from what was decided, or even lived… if “life” still meant anything here. Maybe life was also just an echo of what could have been. Stripped of meaning. The thought made her stomach knot. Nothing could be trusted. What remained was this display of business as usual, taken to its extreme, a perfect breeding ground for corruption, when no common foundation was left. A system without heart or soul… and one might wonder, to what good?

The transactionists, just like their speech, let their eyes slide past her smoothly, without focus, careful not to upset or stir what was already settled, avoiding connection and whatever danger that might hold. For whom, one might ask. Three steps here, three steps there. Money changed hands, oiling the cogs, more ritual than exchange, leaving the human a servant, not the master.

Yes, she had found people talking, but the undertone of fear was ever-present. That, and obedience.

The impression clung to her as she and Double Ception drifted toward the exit; two shadows leaving one choreography only to enter another. Outside, nothing had changed. The regime made itself not just felt but overtly present: troops and police moving as one, uniforms blending, boots polished to a dull shine, hands resting on batons and rifles alike. Violence restrained, yet always at the brink of explosion, as if awaiting a command hidden in the low, mechanical hum of the system itself.

They nodded only to those with gags in place and frowned at anyone whose mouth dared remain uncovered — as though color itself might escape. Oppression did not need words; it only needed a presence — and people’s attention to it.

No, CityLife was clearly not for her.

— — — — — — — —

Continuing to release my short satirical–allegorical text about how today’s political power increasingly works through presence: Soylent Red.

You find the whole thing here: https://www.tjiso.org/

I thought I would be dropping it one chapter a week about here at Medium. At least that’s the plan. I hope you enjoy it.