As we emerge, rubbing our eyes, from the craziness, Colin Montgomery offers some helpful tips on navigating what lies ahead
I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in the rain…”
Ah Rutger, wise words fella. Not the ‘shoulder of Orion’ or the ‘Tanhauser Gate’. That was just top improv mate. But that ‘tears in the rain’ bit rings true.
Because there have been tears. Oceans of them. And trying to itemise each one is not my task. That’s for God. Or whatever your version of God (or non-God) is. Daft columns in freebie mags won’t soak up the pain. But I guess what we can do is offer some weird sense of forward motion.
Which is to say that people will still make jokes, fire barbs, hold forth, say stoopid stuff they regret, babble, bibble, froth and drone. Until kingdom come and forever and ever.
I say, forever, but let’s be honest, the clock ticks a little louder every year these days. It’s the whole climate meltdown/creeping authoritarianism/firestorm of values thing that’s got me spooked. Just a hunch.
Well, that and the massive disconnect between what’s happening in front of our eyes and how people choose to react to it – or more accurately, don’t react to it. Which is again to say; we seem paralysed in the face of the constant and casual effrontery of it all.
By turns outrageous and zombified (actually, modern zombies combine the two don’t they?) we push on through the wreckage, towards what though? Well, to be honest, I don’t have a clue. Though I’m willing to have a go at speculating wildly as to what may be round the bend.
Just don’t take me to court if it doesn’t come to pass. Or try to spatchcock me and set me alight in the street - the fate that befell that Mystic Meg from the tabloids, allegedly. Bet she didn’t see that one coming…
Yeah, anyway, back to future stuff. Not Logan’s Run, Blade Runner, or the eerily prognostic Demolition Man stuff. But real future stuff as envisaged by a man with a black heart, sipping red wine. For I have parted the curtains and stared into the abyss (that’s not a metaphor incidentally).
And here, right here, upon these holy pages is what we should look forward to. Or prepare for because, to get all Bette Davis on you, it’s going to be a very bumpy ride.
Lie-powered turbines will save the planet
In a literal and metaphorical series of twists – big arcing 360s of blessed salvation as they shall come to be known – we shall rig up energy turbines that are run on lies. That way the more bullshit spouted about climate change (and everything else in this foulness) the more we shall eliminate the problem.
Much like the beauty of the Anti-Nazi organisation that tricked Neo-Nazis into doing a sponsored walk to raise money for immigrants. Real thing. Honest. Anyway, we might as well put this sewer of mendacity to some good use. So, “Lie Power” it is.
Statues will have protest marches. Slowly
Now that we know statues of slavers have more value than actual female humans, the movement to offer statues full equivalence in terms of rights, opportunities and protection from discrimination will gather pace. I mean, not that much pace; they are statues after all.
Their protest marches will take ages. And they’ll end with the statues attacking other statues who aren’t part of the erm… movement. Leading to inter-statue discrimination. And then, The Great Statue War will ensue. And God will that be a boring affair…
You will have your
Delivery used to be for midwives and milkmen (often the two overlapping in the true ‘Carry On’ sense). Now everything is delivered. No, everything. I mean I can have bad moods delivered from Amazon. Well, not literally. But bad moods can occur from deliveries.
So, hey, good to know that in the future, you’ll be able to ring up Dreameroo who will bike round your surreal imaginings/wank fantasies/nightmares/bruxism. And yes, I know I ripped it off from Philip K Dick’s Total Recall. But he’s deid. So he can sue me in the next life - where I will be a spy and he an alien bird with three boobs. That scene shall sustain me for all time.
Piers Morgan will become an angry wind
Tornado Alley in the States: It’s a real thing. Where the chances of tornadoes are very high and they hit frequently, causing extensive damage. At least you know what you’re dealing with though - unlike the less predictable Piers Morganadoes.
Sadly, consumed by his own fury, professional fulminator Piers Morgan will gradually turn into a great angry wind, birling and twirling around the globe, destructive and indiscriminate.
Indeed, every house will have a Morgan Cellar where fearful residents can take refuge from his buffeting hatred. Fortunately, his gusty invective will keep the lie turbines going. And so the world turns, turns, turns… turns.
Info: Colin Montgomery is available for readings. Please supply your own crystal ball.