(no subject)
At least four times a day I receive a nonsensical email from a different author similar to the following:
>>The patrols might stop you if you happened to run into them. He took up his pen again and wrote: I understand HOW: I do not understand WHY. Simultaneously with the woman in the basement kitchen he thought of Katharine, his wife. The patrols might stop you if you happened to run into them. It was their final, most essential command. Syme had folded up his strip of paper and stowed it away in his pocket. Most of the people paid no attention to Winston; a few eyed him with asort of guarded curiosity. They were wretched, flimsy things,but cooking-pots of any kind were always difficult to get. Then a door banged, seeming to cut off the smell as abruptly as though it had been a sound. Promiscuity went unpunished, divorce was permitted. Prominentin the middle of the group were Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford. The past was erased, the erasure was forgotten, the lie became truth. Therewas no way of guarding against that, so far as he could see. There was no one at any of the tables nearest to them. It was their delight, their folly, their anodyne, their intellectual stimulant. Within two years those children would be denouncing her to the Thought Police. Within another minute, perhaps, it would have crumbled into ashes. His cigarette had gone out, and he laid itcarefully on the edge of the table. Winston promptly flung himself on his face. Atinny music was trickling from the telescreens. If they chose they could blow the Party to pieces tomorrow morning. It was their final, most essential command.<<
I think someone is being funny. They probably read my journal and decided to mock me by sending me entries of a similar tune. Or maybe it's a drug deal. Does anyone else get these?
so bored.
>>The patrols might stop you if you happened to run into them. He took up his pen again and wrote: I understand HOW: I do not understand WHY. Simultaneously with the woman in the basement kitchen he thought of Katharine, his wife. The patrols might stop you if you happened to run into them. It was their final, most essential command. Syme had folded up his strip of paper and stowed it away in his pocket. Most of the people paid no attention to Winston; a few eyed him with asort of guarded curiosity. They were wretched, flimsy things,but cooking-pots of any kind were always difficult to get. Then a door banged, seeming to cut off the smell as abruptly as though it had been a sound. Promiscuity went unpunished, divorce was permitted. Prominentin the middle of the group were Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford. The past was erased, the erasure was forgotten, the lie became truth. Therewas no way of guarding against that, so far as he could see. There was no one at any of the tables nearest to them. It was their delight, their folly, their anodyne, their intellectual stimulant. Within two years those children would be denouncing her to the Thought Police. Within another minute, perhaps, it would have crumbled into ashes. His cigarette had gone out, and he laid itcarefully on the edge of the table. Winston promptly flung himself on his face. Atinny music was trickling from the telescreens. If they chose they could blow the Party to pieces tomorrow morning. It was their final, most essential command.<<
I think someone is being funny. They probably read my journal and decided to mock me by sending me entries of a similar tune. Or maybe it's a drug deal. Does anyone else get these?
so bored.