The Pageant

Prologue

A Guide 4 Readers

If you’re not a kindergartener, just skip the next section. If you are a kindergartener, you would probably just need to read the second paragraph of the next section.

Excerpt From A Textbook For Kindergarteners

Wormholes, which have shapes of Planck cubes (10-dimensional cubes with sides of the Planck length), naturally exist in the universes. Each of them is connected to somewhere with certain 11-dimensional coordinates (10~space dimensions plus time). With each string (component of quarks) passing through a wormhole, an alternate universe is created with the direction of one of the 11 dimensions changed. The angles of the changes are determined by the energy of strings passing through, and one type of strings only triggers changes in one certain dimension – we will discuss this in the next chapter. The most special case would be the change in direction of the time dimension – it can only be turned 180° – which creates a universe operating counter-chronologically. – In the rest of the chapter, you will need to master the modern notations of alternate universes:

We notate our universe as Universe #0. For the universe with only the time dimension changed (reversed), we write Universe #1. For universes with only spatial dimensions different (which can be called parallel universes) than Universe #0 or 1, we write Universe #0.n and Universe #1.n, respectively (n differs for each parallel universe). This way, each universe has its unique notation.

Mr Egg, Universe #1

down la River course to Terminum ultimum vitae
we’re Surging downflux; we’re all workers in dis hive
we can’t wield our bu- buzz– buzzing here hyphen
in no way can we break loose from dis Recirculatio

da Swell of wa and da Rush of ter confine us captives
and we protect freespeech quic to be inundated by Runic
legends and l’effusion from da Rise de la River from which
da Revered Reverser Rechannels us as Sisyphi to encore Redrift

The nation is going backwards, backwards; the stream of timentide is rushing intensively, driving it fiercely backwards. We’re born in this age destined to be damned in this recirculation.

At first people thought life was gonna get better. After the death of Chairman Winnie the Pee, Dunno Who was designated to take his place. Though the censorship policies during the Who era were stricter, lots of other policies were made better: Lifelong tenure of the chairmanship was abolished; free trade was encouraged between our country and the US soon after the ceasefire of the Great Trade War. —And don’t forget that there’s one more quark that we have to credit to Chairman Dunno Who: He made our African brothers pay us some 25 billion dollars for infrastructure construction.

Then the Magian Expo took place soon; two years later, the Capital Olympics was held successfully and brought our country great renown. And that was it, period. The brief season of glory and globalisation atrophied fast; the Dark Age came soon.

After the chairmanship of Who, Mr Frog came into power, several months before I was born. All the dreadful began four years later, when Shakyahongzhi came back to the province of Koguryo from the United States. There he initiated an underground qigong school, Dafa, whose followers were persecuted immediately under high pressure from the central committee led by Mr Frog for fear of a coup d’état spearheaded by the growing crowd of Dafa practicers.

The country fell into a state of sudden terror; this unprecedented series of oppression was absent even in the most authoritarian interludes during the reign of Winnie.

There were riots (and idiots) and incarceration seen, and the mass of the followers of the cult grew rapidly over the years despite the hardships and pogroms. At last, against Mr Frog’s will, the Iron Chancellor shook hands with five Dafa leaders and rehabilitated Shakyahongzhi. But the dead were many and the grief, the sorrow could not be forgotten and stayed as sore points, grievances indelible from the minds of compatriots.

After a short interlude of peace, all kicked back in. Exactly forty years before now, there was the Eight Square Incident, which was named after the very square in which it took place. The Eight Square had a history of being a venue for student unrest, yet none of the preceding sit-ins or demonstrations had been quelled in such a violent way. I was only thirteen; my elder brother was nineteen when he joined the procession and got minced under the unforgiving caterpillars of the tanks. Troops of 0.3 million were tramping in the Eight Square; hundreds of civilians, if not more, were massacred like rabbits in a hunting ground, with the youngest being a nine-year-old pupil. The hope for a democratic government grew even dimmer.

So what happened next?

Mr Frog was relegated to be the mayor of La Magia; Mr Shopping came into power. For fear of more turmoil, he consolidated the Party’s political power during his tenure, by redrawing up the lifelong-tenure policy and assassinating Mr Cannon, the prominent pro-democracy statesman. Shopping also reduced the degree of commerce with capitalist countries in hope of a more stabilised and more planned economy; not long after, the negative effects started to backfire on the country’s economy.

The next incumbent is the present one we all know. Mr Hand Exchanged. The savage guy who started the ten-year Text Transmogrification that wreaked great havoc upon the countrymen and countrywomen. He insisted on adding superfluities to characters so that people couldn’t understand, and to cut off the country’s diplomatic relationships, furthering the closed-door policy of Shopping economically and diplomatically.

The overconfident turkey made the people melt weapons to make pots, pans and farming utensils, believing that allaying hunger outweighed having firearms.

When the moron’s wife stood out to halt the Transmogrification it was too late; Mr CK Scheiße the Marschall to the east was lying in wait to recover his lost land.

Mr Scheiße hasn’t waited too long for today, has he?

Just like how his army fled to the island of Taidagascar lifetimes ago, they are coming back to reconquer their land.

We’re so damned in the world of re.

And I’m a middle-aged man who’s lived fifty-three thousand years.

when Sisypheanist Scientists asserted da Reverser
all were Sisyphied, and none was Staid at first
dat was da great Tumultu et Turbulence-Turmoil Tempus
hivanity Subsisted merely grâce à da Sedatesobers

and i’m merely a descendant de da Tumultuous
after Two Thousand years we’ve, with assiduitas
now come to da Second phase of Recirculation
dis is our Story, da Story of hivans, my children

i know dat one day, your Scions will Science further
and explore l’univers inconnu, and as dey Roam dere
dey Roarloud, Suavecalm and Thinkkeen
unTroubled by da Reverser, dey Singpaean

Comrade K.x, Universe #0.x

Father told me when I was really young: If my head were to be placed near a blackhole, I’d experience time flowing at different rates from head to toe. Yet before having time to realise, the rest of my body would already have been ageing and become decayed. Nonetheless, when compared to the ever-atrophying body, my head would stay immortal. This is so comparable to the world of re.

Metropolises like NYC and LA are indeed miracles, ends of the ways paved by all the industrious generations preceding; their skylines, haloes like the blackhole, by the mystique of which they stay immortal. They are the heads of the world, yet not necessarily knowing what’s going on with the feet—which they ought to feel.

Comrade K.x, Universe #0.x

Comrade K, comrade K, better call your Mr K 'bout it yeah? ’Tis an arsepain again enkindled by l’accursed Uygur bumpkins and al Qaeda pumpkins, comrade Theresa. Father would know no better because all he pwonders about is finding a way to quell the uprising.

—anti–parti-communism

Pardon? Yet these conducts are indeed anti-party, anti-communism. Yet does it even matter girl? Teach urself some demokrashiet and then get back working, right? Why don’t you have the sense of demo like your sister? That's cuz she's your wife…

Demodemo, demokrashiet, democratised and demotic demo not demoralising or demolished demonstration, and the demoiselle mon love, that summer and that demonstrable demon onstreet. Poor woman, poor Dad, neither of whom knows the mystique of demo.

Mr K, Universe

After the American capitalism surrendered to our almighty socialism, Chairman Winnie the Glorious generously restored trade agreements with the filthy capitalists. After that, the poor capitalists all came to our great city of La Magia to witness the greatness of industrialisation.

The Norwegian capitalists were ignorant also. Did they all live in the Japwriter’s woods? did they run around like headless turkeys? the rebellious Türks? They tried to give this “poet” and that “monk” Nobel Prizes, but y’know, they made this decision poisoned by capitalism and Californian weed, and filled with turkeyshit.

The karma was, they got into economic crises soon! God damned the American fools. The ignorant fools which knew nothing about economy, the ignorant fools which were impotent compared to our partyleader, economyconstructor Chairman Who!

The… the unstoppable victory of Red Revolution shone its light on the world and the Olympics was held in the great capital of our nation and the whole world gazed at the magnificence of our nation!

We overcame the monstrous sars; communism blessed the people! And ten years later, another monstrosity, the Hongzhi Gang was eradicated. Well of course, that all happened after I was elected the Chairman. I also gracefully sold Fragrance Port to the fucking Brits—for billions of dollars! Oh the Revered General K, did you see this? During your son’s chairmanship, this nation that you founded has been prospering!

The future of our country is glorious! Marx bless my nation!

Comrade K.y, Universe #1.y

When I was young, when I was about eight, Mother used to take me to the Magian World Expo. On the buses I’d hear old people talking about how life was going to get better and how our country was starting to play an important role on the international stage.

When I was ten, I heard from the news that the Olympic Games were to be held in our nation’s capital and I felt really proud. What would it be like if one day I could be a renowned statesman who could bring our country with fame?

but fear came to me when at the same time, the superpower in the world underwent a major economic crisis, and I realised the fragility of countries. One delayed movement could jam the whole machine. Yes, and it was in the same year that Father always talked about a guy in prison that won the Nobel Peace Prize and mother always cut him off, saying the police would get him if he kept on bullshitting. What was the guy’s name, and why was he imprisoned yet awarded the Prize? The intricacy of politics was a deep pond of dark water to me.

When I grew a bit older and started to understand more, SARS took Mother away. I was in school and Father was outside the emergency room; doctors later told me, the mask that Government had distributed nearly suffocated this wailing poor man. I wished to help with my country’s economy. Because knew that Richard’s dad survived SARS with medications bought from abroad at great expense. Father kept blaming himself for not being able to provide the best medical care for Mother. I remembered how his eyes were red for three days after mother passed away.

More and more people began to believe that the “iron bowl” was the most secure job in our country. Father followed the trend and successfully started his career as a functionary. We all hoped dearly that life would get better, just like the slogan I used to see many years ago every time Mother took me to the World Expo, when the world unfurled itself to me, “Better City, Better Life.”

Six years had passed when I graduated from college in the US, where I met a woman I would love with my life: my beloved Linda. And a concept I would love with my life, too: freedom.

Father had been fairly successful in his official career, quickly climbing up the ladder of hierarchy in the past six years.

More and more, I found myself unable to cope with Father.

His dogmatism, his policies of censorship.

His expression which told me these all came naturally.

Things were like this when I was 28, there was a major uprising in La Magia; 14 citizens were killed by Uygurs wielding their machetes like yo-yos. Father, as the mayor, instructed the court to decree that the Uygurs had committed the crime of “inciting subversion of state power.”

Though I thought the Uygurs should be charged with murder, it was unlawful of Father to interfere, and it was terrible of him to censor the news about the Uygurs seeking freedom.

So this must have been the reason for the assassins. Goddamned Muslims, Uygur nationalists, goddamned supporters of East Turkestan.

Goddamned freedom, goddamned Americans, you’re not my lover anymore.

I weep for you, father.

Mr Egg, Universe #0

One day I heard on the street a guy saying, “born in this country, I am sorry.”
But wise up, say to the victims of Cultural Revolution, June 4th, Falun and Central sorry.

A smart kid in my middle school was a political activist and one day
Police broke into his house and had some cups of “tea” with his family and I felt sorry.

A year later I wrote my first fiction about a Uygur rebellion
I now look back at myself getting my first detention and I am sorry.

I am not the guy on the street and I love my country
But for despotism, censorship and for the victims of them I am deeply sorry.

sp used to teach me history, now he doesn’t. He’s behind the bars,
because in his class we could learn astonishing facts about Falun. I feel so sorry.

I thought I knew William’s dad well, a nice man who spent some college time in Japan.
I didn’t know he was there as well, in the Tian’anmen; looking at his weary eyes, I felt sorry.

Easily people could flip through the year 1989 in a history book,
yet heed to the teenage lives taken away by rifles and tanks; feel sorry.

In a small room, on a June 4th many years after the June 4th, Fitzgerald and I invited people
to sit in. I got my second detention, though it was for our compatriots that we felt sorry.

When I grew older people told me more. I felt the agony of my grandmother witnessing
the miserable deaths of her colleague and her neighbour on a sunny day in 1969. I couldn’t help feeling sorry.

In dreams I descried ancient temples burnt, renowned poets killed and lovers’ hearts broken.
I was a Red Guardian of Communism; I even lashed my grandma’s colleague dead. I was horrified and sorry.

General K, Universe #0

Freedom shouldn’t be a specialty that we sell, and we’re not doing a charity either. The billows of democracy are raging, ready to sweep Gimo away from the people’s land of freedom. Democracy is the only solution, and we’ll overthrow this despot far from our revolutionary country.

All power comes from the people! All glory belongs to democracy!