I haven’t got a speech, I didn’t plan words – I didn’t even try to. I just knew I had to get here to stand here and I knew I wanted you to listen. To really listen, not just pull a face like you’re listening, like you do the rest of the time. A face like you’re feeling instead of processing. You pull a face and poke it towards the stage and we lah-di-dah, we sing and dance and tumble around, and all you see up here – it’s not people you don’t see people up here, it’s all fodder. And the faker the fodder is the more you love it because fake fodder is the only thing that works anymore. Fake fodder is all that we can stomach – actually not quite all. Real pain, real viciousness that we can take.
Yes stick a fat man up a pole and we’ll laugh ourselves feral because we’ve earned the right. We’ve done cell time and he’s slacking the scum so ha-ha-ha at him. Cause we’re so out of our minds with desperation we don’t know any better. All we know is fake fodder and buying shit. It’s how we speak to each other how we express ourselves is buying shit. What I have a dream? The peak of our dreams is a new hat for our Dopple. A hat that doesn’t exist. It’s not even there we buy shit that’s not even there. Show us something real and free and beautiful – you couldn’t, yea? It’d break us. We’re too numb for it. I might as well choke. There’s only so much wonder we can bear. That’s why when you find any wonder whatsoever you dole it out in meagre portions and only until it is augmented and packaged and pumped through 10,000 pre-assigned filters, ’till it’s nothing more than a meaningless series of lights while we ride day in, day out going where? Powering what? All tiny cells in tiny screens and bigger cells in bigger screens AND FUCK YOU!
Fuck you that’s what it all boils down to… it’s fuck you! Fuck you for sitting there and slowly making things worse. Fuck you and your spotlight and your sanctimonious faces, fuck you all for taking the one thing I ever came close to anything real about anything for oozing around it and crushing it into a bone into a joke one more ugly joke in a kingdom of millions and then fuck you! Fuck you for happening! Fuck you for me, for us, for everyone! Fuck you.
‘15 Million Merits’, Black Mirror(2011), created by Charlie Brooker