The nuisance living close to me is revealing an adaptive intelligence beyond anything we might expect from a mere thug; there appears to be no difficulty in his hearing even my slightest mutterings, my quietest tunes, and understanding me or the lyrics; one might suppose an encylopedic knowledge of music.
Why?
At certain times, the rubbish has taken to attempting to get into my mind by tapping on the floor at key lyrics; by itself nothing, but in the context of the psychological induction he has been attempting for the past six months, day-in, day-out, all hours; it is supposed to be reinforcing 'messages' keyed into the lyrics of the songs.
Sophisticated?
Pathetic, I call it.
But the point is this; I am witnessing both science and its application.
To me.
To my mind.
There must be no such thing as an independent mind in Britain, and I don't know why this is so, I only know that we are constantly hounded by these little establishmentarian poodles from the day we are born.
If I get turned down by the Canadians, they'd better watch it.
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