I have always been interested by human behaviour. By the inner workings of our minds, which we all feel to be so individual, and yet are so frighteningly alike. I have, since my early teens, been fascinated by the propaganda and art and stirring speeches of revolutionaries, tyrants and dictators, of artists and musicians and secret political groups.
When I was sixteen, I joined a local political group, the Socialist Worker Party. Not because I felt any particular affiliation to them, but because of their post-punk, anti-authoritarian ways. I went flyposting, sprayed graffiti under bridges, attended rowdy meetings in the back-rooms of dingy bars, and I watched. The cult-like behaviour of the group was utterly absorbing. From the posters and placards to the weekly newspaper, all of it was designed to appeal to a certain person, and I wanted to figure that person out.
Years later, I was walking home from my IT job, about nineteen, maybe twenty years old. In the middle of the city square, the Scientologists had set up a marquee. I took careful inventory of the bright colours, the clever design-work of the leaflets and posters, the way the terribly friendly and loving members would engage passers by and draw them in. I sat down in the tent and listened to a speech, watched the reactions of those around me, made mental notes of the subtle hypnotic techniques they employed. I wanted to figure them out.
There have been many such occasions. I’ve sat in on dozens of group meetings since then, everything from the local council to the reptile society, and watched and listened and taken things in. I’ve learned to recognize and understand the truly indescribable power of propaganda, and the desperation of humans to be a part of something. To feel understood. To feel heard. To feel that they alone are in possession of some secret wisdom that the masses fail to understand. It is genuinely fascinating, the lengths we go to as a species, to convince ourselves that we are special.
Here in hypno-land, things are somewhat different. Here, the overwhelming desire is to be rendered mindless. To become consumed by another, their will overtaking your own. The ultimate pleasure is to succumb to the hive mentality, to lose your identity, to be weak and empty and blank, I Love Leader, I Am Slave. It fascinates in an entirely different way, and yet… is it different really? If being weak makes you desirable to a woman, if losing your senses makes you feel pleasure, if joining her stable and losing your sense of self enthrals you… Is it that you are consumed by her propaganda, or is it that you are smart enough to recognize that this is the better option?
To willingly give up your control. Give up your power. Give up yourself. Not because you were tricked or drawn in against your wishes, or didn’t know what you’d gotten yourself into, but because you actively chose to do so, it’s better than the alternative. Better than falling prey to a hundred blaring messages from every organization in existence. Better to open your mind to one bright, beautiful, glowing message that brings you pleasure, than wallow in the muddy waters of social construct, advertising and false belief. Better to be nothing, to be nobody, if it is for her pleasure. It gives you a curious freedom in a world of constraints.