my adjustment

[Terrance]

And victory gin for all. 
broken is winston smith, broken and blubbering his drunken love for his
big brothers, he has made his adjustment, they are like gods to him now. 
there is  no hope, not even i the Proles. 
gloom, like a bomb hanging over a theatre, hovering over your skull with
a name on it you think might be yours. politics. seems to me orwell had
it with the left and the right and left left and leftovers and maybe P
has had it with them too. maybe that's why he likes this gloomy book so
much. like orwell, P has conservative stripes, not so much political as
an appreciation for the way in which ordinary people live, the strength,
the vitality, the wisdom of the working-class. interesting virtues P
attributes to the working class sailors in his SL intro. Smith tries to
recall his mother, how she held him simply because he was a child. ah, i
see them on the 7 train, the mexicans with children lined up like ducks
in a row, off to church and then the park for a bit of soccer and picnic
lunch...smith tries to summon up a remembrance of a destroyed church.
like Slothrop in the streets section we discussed here .... he even
tries to put together an old rhyme: 

oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clement's' 

and you know the rest

socialism, as orwell liked to think of it, was not about getting rid of
the past. to do so, is political terror to the memory, to remembrance,
to 
utopias far away and over the hill and up in the sky.