All work herein is copyright (c) Stewart Wilson 2001.

Enemy Territory

Being an occasional rambling article from the mind of Stewart Wilson


Monday, and the world has reached breaking point. Let?s see? Parental anxiety and drunkenness, the general state of the world, the morons inhabiting our urban areas? How many reasons can I come up with for getting the fuck off of this rock? But no, I don?t need a reason; shitloads of money works well for me when it comes to that. And, to be honest, I need a change. I?m sick of the idiosyncrasies over here, the oft times stupid insistence on outdated ideas.

Yes, of course, my family is the cause of me saying this. After all, who else would yell at me for passing someone on the stairs? Three guesses? I asked why, obviously. I tried to understand? but when I explained that it all started with people not wanting to slice each other open with their swords then they got rather testy. I left at that point, rather than get into an argument about Tradition and Values and a load of other words that they come up with to make it sound like they know what they?re talking about. Yeah, this wasn?t quite the rant you were looking for? I need nicotine, but I think I?ll never get some. Bad combination.

* * *

That does, however, give me a tenuous hook for the next part? I?ve been helping my family get online. Yes, I know, it?s a fool?s errand, but I had to. I was forced, I say! But now, my dad, ever the technophobe, thinks he?s king of the world as he can send an e-mail. The old man should learn to catch up, he?s got over 10 years of culture to catch up on, but he?ll always be a Luddite at heart. He?s so entrenched in metal and paper and bits of plastic that make up his world that he ever wants to leave, even though the dominant force on the planet for the last three or four years at least has been telling him that he must. He?s one of an odd breed of people that think money actually means something. There?s less gold in the average pound coin than there is in the same amount of seawater, for fuck?s sakes! And yet he still puts value in things.

To illustrate? He thinks money is still measured in currency, in hard metal and paper moneys. Bullshit. This is the Information Age, money?s nothing but information held on a computer. If we were to change main currencies tomorrow, most people wouldn?t care. The prices would still be marked in pounds, but they?d be taken off the card in yen or dollars or franks or marks. The medium doesn?t matter, it?s the message. If I can hold a conversation in a ?room? with someone where every major physical action and plenty of minor ones are described, then who is to say that, mentally, I am not ?there?? Distance has no longer become a limiting factor like it once was, and get his primitive mind cannot comprehend that. Damn ingrates should evolve and at least take part in the culture of the day. It?s as bad as living like a Victorian in the 1950?s. It?s outdated, outmoded, and there?s no point to it. And yet in this world, there are far too many that will never get it, that will never understand how our world is working. The first world is dividing into two ?classes?, those that can keep up, and those that can?t. And those that can?t are swiftly going to become obsolete.

Yes, that?s elitist. And with good reason. If people can?t be arsed to do anything, just want to sit back and be passive, then fuck them. They are the problem. We are the future.

And when the silver space gods from the tenth dimension make me supreme ruler of the universe, they?ll get what?s coming to them.

* * *

It?s finally happened. I?ve been threatened with libel and slander. Last I looked, I never said anything that could be misconstrued as that. I jut asked leading questions, but he was using them against me? Ah well, I?d better give you the truth. A few days ago, the day before I came back to this hellhole of a city, I was sat in Stafford town square. Not the most inspiring of places, but at least the pigeons knew to shit on someone else, which is always a good start. I was bored, drinking coffee and leafing through a magazine I had acquired. Then, who comes up but a member of one of those organisations. You know the ones, the adverts are on TV all the damn time. ?Had an accident? Broken your leg because you?re too fucking stupid to tie your own shoelaces? Call us, and we?ll sue the bollocks off someone that had nothing to do with it. What do we care who?s to blame s long as we win and get paid.?

I thought you?d know the companies I meant.

These drones had been patrolling the streets all day. One had com close, but I tripped an old lady and he?d dashed off to sue whoever made her walking stick and earn himself a nice fat commission. But now, I was trapped. A yellow-jacketed shaven-haired troglodyte bore down upon me, and no routes of escape lay open. I considered beating him up, but I?ve seen bomb shelters built worse, and he probably knew a few hundred lawyers. That plan was out of the window. I?d have to pay the dry cleaning where my blood got on his jacket. He started his patter, had I had any accidents in the last five minutes since one of these morons had last assaulted me?

As he spoke, a plan formed. I found my Dictaphone. I?ve got you now, you bastard. Brandishing the business end his way, I asked simply, ?What would you say to the claims that companies such as yours are driving up insurance premiums and encouraging a litigious society that I cheapening th legal system? Speak up, for the microphone.?

He recoiled. An assault of logic was not what he expected. And one on tape was just too much. He refused to comment. Obviously, I pressed the matter. He threatened not just me but any paper I contacted about the incident with charges of slander and libel. So entrenched was this subhuman in the need of layers that he considered such charges a threat! I laughed, and walked away. The moral of this story? Simple. Crime doesn?t pay, but journalism lets you be a right bastard.

Stewart Wilson, The Digital Raven
Hull, 26th June 2001