A million seated into one. One seated to a million. The dogma begins, just as it began yesterday, the day before yesterday, and the day before that.
What is it? A shout? A wail? A scream? No. It is a cry. A warcry. Who is this beast fighting now? That is not important. It is just a beast.
Robotic marching (pretty much a contrast, I suppose) entails. (It is not really a contrast though, since both a beast and a robot lack human characteristics). The robots march into the theater with a huge wide opening in the centre, leading to the cuboid. All of these are of a kind of metal, a kind of inhuman metal, unwilling to shed a tiny drop of sympathy to any of the million. (We are one, not a million! A million in a family, strange indeed.)
Everyone here has a visage, a mask, a cover from our terrible faces underneath. Human (Beast) (Robot) emotions are uniform too. (Why not uniform? We are one, a million in one!) Even though they are not uniform indeed, they look uniform enough.
The chanting, the singing. They, too, are uniform. What is different is that the chanting aren't really chanting, the singing aren't really singing. Under any of the masks their souls know darn well. The mechanical organist, once a criminal (still a criminal under his mask), plays the hypocritical song. A hypocrite with a hypocritical song. How fitting.
Being the organist is one of the most aspired jobs in the State. Why can a criminal take the place? The reason is simple: The criminal is cunning enough. He (sic! "It" is more appropriate. I wonder if it is a human anyway) knows what it takes to cheat. It knows the drill. To evict shame from your soul, to evict righteousness from your soul. Is it really that hard? No. It is easy to murder.
A bunch of insignificant notes, non-sequential, non-meaningful.
I cannot exactly recall the address by the robot on the cuboid that day. The keywords were approximately as follows: Discipline, indulgences and temptation. I guess it shouldn't really mention indulgences, because it reminds me of the indulgences in the Middle Ages. I guess that is an irony. Yes, indeed. His body is full of iron (and carbon and chromium and nickel and...)
"BULLetin. THe STAte HAs EXPAnded HEr HOLy TERRItory To THe 945th GALaxy. CONgratulations To EVEry Of OUr SOLdiers. THe INhabitants ARe TREAted PROmptly."
A round of applause. (I cannot convince myself to applaud, though)
A curse. An arrangement of notes.
