The Time Times Thursday Theater presents:
The Twilight Zone’s
The Twilight Zone: “The Obsolete Man”
“You walk into this room at your own risk, because it leads to the future, not a future that will be but one that might be. This is not a new world, it is simply an extension of what began in the old one. It has patterned itself after every dictator who has even planted the ripping imprint of a boot on the pages of history since the beginning of time. It has refinements, technological advances, and a more sophisticated approach to the destruction of human freedom. But like every one of the super States that preceded it, it has one iron rule: logic is an enemy and truth is a menace... This is Mr. Romney Wordsworth, in his last forty-eight hours on Earth. He’s a citizen of the State but will soon have to be eliminated, because he’s built out of flesh and because he has a mind. Mr. Romney Wordsworth, who will draw his last breaths in the Twilight Zone.”
Chancellor:You are obsolete, Mr.Wordsworth!
Wordsworth: A lie, no man is obsolete!
Chancellor: You have no function, Mr.Wordsworth. You’re an innacuranism, like a ghost from another time….
Wordsworth: I am nothing more than a reminder to you that you cannot destroy truth by burning pages!
Chancellor: You’re a bug,Mr.Wordsworth. A crawling insect. An ugly, misformed, little creature, that has no purpose here, no meaning!
Wordsworth: I am a human being…
Chancellor: You’re a librarian, Mr.Wordsworth. You’re a dealer in books and two cent finds and pamphlets in closed stacks in the musty finds of a language factory that spews meaningless words on an assembly line. WORDS, Mr.WORDSworth. That have no substance, no dimension, like air, like the wind. Like a vacuum, that you make believe have an existence, by scribbling index numbers on little cards.
Wordsworth: I don’t care. I tell you: I don’t care. I’m a human being, I exist….and if I speak one thought aloud, that thought lives, even after I’m shoveled into my grave.
Chancellor: Delusions, Mr.Wordsworth, DELUSIONS!! That you inject into your veins with printer’s ink, the narcotics you call literature: The Bible, poetry, essays, all kinds, all of it are opiate to make you think you have a strength, when you have no strength at all!!! You are nothing, but spindly limbs and a dream, and The State has no use for your kind!!!! (Calming down) You waste our time, Mr.Wordsworth, and you’re not worth the waste. Instruct him!