One

I

Dear Journal,

The cold breezes creeps upon my legs as the sun sets on this oppressing, yet normal day. The posters watching my every breath and every movement. Only possible for my thoughts to run free in my head. But this oppression is killing me so deeply in my heart that I must write these feelings that engender within me to let down on paper before I perform them in person. Scared that the Thought Police will catch me. No where am I safe from a neighbor, friend, or even a small child could change my life just instantly.

II

Dear Journal,

DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER. The words that run around and around in circles in my head. How could I get this though out of my head as he is everywhere, even on the coins that lie in my wallet. As Mrs. Parsons stopped by today, I thought of the children in there dreary request to see the hanging. And how everyone thought the slogans were glorious.

III

Dear Journal,

Alone in this place of Oceania, I dream of my mother. Her tall, statuesque body, fair hair, and silent behaviors. Of the father I knew to have dark skin and his towering height in his neat dark clothes looking at me with his spectacles. Of the small innocent sister I barely knew except for her watchful eyes. I awaken each day with a burning passion for the truth and even closer when I awake on days with the word "Shakespeare" on my lips. Of course this is hard to think of when an attractive young lady with dark hair have the potential of being a spy.

IV

Dear Journal,

On this normal day, I lose myself into the mathematical equations of the Newspeak. Translating each file for it is set in record. Later I see the life of a fallen comrade, Comrade Ogilvy. His young life of which he rejected each of the toys that were not drums, submachine guns, and model helicopters. In addition to representing abstinence, he did not smoke and wished to hunt down criminals. For he did not live in the present, but in the past. Fascinating that the act of forgery made him one step closer by evidence alone to those of Charlemagne or Julius Caesar.

V

Dear Journal,

I met up with Syme today as he tries to explain to me about the Eleventh Edition of Newspeak. I worry that for every waking moment that Syme discovers more about the party will lead to his vaporization. Also Mr. Parsons apologized for his children harassing me the other day. And on this day I have discovered one of their spies staring me down. This dark haired girl watching my every move which worries me deeply.

VI

Dear Journal,

Today, I think of the last time I had sexual relations with a woman. This thought brings back the memories of my ex-beloved. Katherine hated touching of any kind and sex was out of the question. But my last sexual partner had been a weathered, aged woman from the streets of the proles. The Party frowned upon sexual act of any kind unless it was to produce a new party member. I feel deprived of this freedom to speak my mind because all that I desire to scream are the thoughts that run through my mind. And my job could not be any more contradictory to how feel. I falsify the past to create the ideal world according to the Party. I yearn to find more about the past, the facts of how life actually was.

VII

Dear Journal,

I realized today that power lies with the proles. If there is to be any revolution at all, the proles will have to be a part of it. Most of them do not even know that the Party is oppressing them because they live simple lives of ignorance. The proles make up 85% of the population. It needs to occur because of the Party's ideal cities include decaying buildings, electricity shortage, and many people that live in penury and fright. I want the ability to say 2 + 2 = 4.