Mount Ti Bi Da Bo

It was like this. I'm standing on the side of Tibidabo. Kitler is sitting at my feet like an obedient dog. So maybe it wasn't really Kitler. Anyway, at the top of Tibidabo is a church and on top of the church is a statue of Jesus with his arms spread out. "Ti bi da bo" (I will give it to you) is what the Devil said to Jesus when he took him to the top of the mountain in an attempt to corrupt him by offering him all of life's worldly pleasures. The Devil spoke Latin, you see. Apparently, in the case of Barcelona, the idea of having Jesus up there with his arms spread out in offering is to say, "I will give you Barcelona". So why then, you may ask, is Jesus gesturing on behalf of the Devil to offer us the worldly pleasures of Barcelona? I know not, but... back to the dream.

So me and Kitler are standing on the slopes of Tibidabo among a crowd of about five thousand people. Jesus is addressing us from his plinth only it's not Jesus now it's Al Gore. Everytime I try to concentrate on the face it morphs into someone else. It's Obama. Then Einstein. Then Orwell, Julius Ceaser, Jonathan Ross, James Lovelock, Hitler, Madonna, Germaine Greer.

I can hear someone writing: tap, tap, tap-tap-tap.

Now, the many-faced one is talking about original sin and the transgressions of Adam and Eve in the garden.

Tap-tap-tap...

I raise my hand.

"Yes, Lishman" says the speaker, bearing the weary expression of my fourth form English teacher. The crowd turns to look at me. Kitler tries to hide behind my legs. There is great expectation.

I cough to clear my throat and begin speaking, "Sir, what is wrong with trying to attain the apple of knowledge? Surely, Eve was merely trying to improve herself, sir?"

There is a restless murmuring across the hillside. The people look worried as the speaker takes on angry forms: Saddam Hussein, Mussolini, Queen Elizabeth I, before calming down into George Orwell, the Dalai Lama and then Gandhi.

"But Lishman is missing the point", explains the speaker,"that particular branch of knowledge wasn't hers to touch and in disobeying the orders of her creator, she sent out the wrong message to everyone. She had to be punished. You see, Lishman, all of you are God's creation and you need to follow his rules or ELSE...", the speaker pauses mid-sentence as if to reconsider what it is saying, "OR else, you are nothing but a host of maggots eating up our resources. No good to anyone." The speaker gestures to where the crowd is standing. Everyone, apart from myself and Kitler, immediately falls to their feet and takes the form of man-size larva greedily gorging themselves on the vegetation.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap, tap-tap...

"But I prefer the idea that you're God's flock. A goodly host of sheep following the teachings of the great shepherd." At this point he turns back into Jesus holding a staff, which he strikes on the ground. The maggots become people again, most of them fairly shocked to find themselves with mouthfuls of grass, others chew on happily. I look down and realize that Kitler has disappeared.


I raise my hand again.

"Has no one else got any questions?", asks the speaker somewhat irritated, "Ok, Lishman, go ahead."

"Don't shepherds ultimately lead their sheep to slaughter?" I ask.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

"When it's time, yes.", says the speaker, with the sincere tone of Richard Burton in 1984. "We like to fleece them a few times first. Then we kill off the old and sacrifice the tenderest of the lambs. And of course when the stock is bad, we slaughter all of you... er them. And re-breed the flock from the strongest gene pool... tap-tap, tap tap tap tap, tap-tap-tap"

All the speaker's words disappear and become the frantic tap-tapping of a thousand typewriters. The speaker, who is now in the form of Prince Charles, begins to flicker and fade. Suddenly I notice that it's Kitler who's causing the speaker to disappear. She's on the plinth chewing on a cable. It's just a hologram, you see, and Kitler is attacking its power source.

Now I'm running up the hill to stop Kitler from being electrocuted, but before I can reach the top everything starts to shake from side to side. There's an earthquake. The mountain splits open and swallows the church. A few seconds later, the shaking stops. I look around, but there's no sign of Kitler. I walk up to the top and peer into the crater. Inside, there's no sign of the fallen church, instead there is row after row of writers sitting at their desks frantically typing.

"Hey, we can see you now. The games up." I shout down into the hole. Some of them look up. Others continue typing.

"Hey, it's over. We know you're making everything up." I shout. The ones that can hear me start alerting the others and before long they're all looking up at me peering over the edge of the crater.

"Yeah, that's right. Time to pack up your writing machines and go home. We see right through your lies." I scream.

Then I hear the mournful squeal of Kitler from nearby.

And I wake up, because Kitler is pawing my face.

Lauren sips on her tea, pondering something.

"Biscuit?" I say.

"Yes. The chocolate one." she replies.

"So you realise that in your dream..." says Lauren, pausing to sip more tea.

"Yes?" I say.

"Kitler is Toto."

"Yes, I suppose she is."

Well, we're certainly not in Kansas any more.

Solutions # 41: While they keep you focused on the present. They're changing your history and stealing your future. Dump the 15-minute culture. Read widely.