Notes From The IPCRESS Chamber.

You might think that the film the 'IPCRESS File' was a fanciful piece of romanticised espionage fiction.
As I sit here on Guy Fawkes Night, listening to enough explosions and reports for a bad night in Beirut, punctuated by the wailing of the emergency vehicles, I am reflecting on my apparent state of callousness.

Indeed, I have been brought to the stage whereby so many of my 'Redlines' have been crossed that I cannot proceed to do anything of value without breaking my stillness, the stillness of the grave, the grave in which I have been buried alive.

And when you do this, you yourself cross your own redlines, so that your continuing presence is the presence of the ghost in the machine, the machine of your own day-to-day life.
I am an unwelcome guest in my own existence, with nothing but fitful irritation to mark my interaction with those who have been used in my sacrifice.

The IPCRESS File used sounds and flashing lights to illustrate something very real, something which appears, like troubles, in multitudes and attacks us every now and again with a persistence which can- indeed must- be directed.

By such means are we British put into our places.
By destroying our ability to care, they render us accepting and cooperative.
Then they sit back and wait for 'common sense' to take its course.
After all, why endure a great passion when there are so many pretty, pretty girls in the streets?
Why value your family, when after all, there are so many families and people who need you?

I was supposed to be a rich man.
I spoke out against the expropriation of a colleague.
I was sacked.
I continued to speak out.
I was threatened with legal action.
My savings were trashed.
I continued to speak out.
My family was threatened.
I continued to speak out.
People in Canada threatend people I barely knew in America.

These are facts.
You can infer a great 'conspiracy' if you like, but no one man would justify such an investment of effort.
But when it is already an industry, such a small matter to use the delicate touch on just one more, eh?

There is something foul and malevolent at loose in the fabric of England.
Many think they are fighting it when they in fact are extending it, covering it in straw men behind which it is safe.
It isn't necessarily the government, far from it, this is mostly governed by constitution and law, but where it can spread its claws it does.
It is a black, black organisation which to me is nameless.
But it exists.
The Hellfire Club was probably the nearest it ever had to a public face.
It is real.
It is around us.
It is not all that large.
But it is everywhere.

And the way to defeat it is to simply walk away.