Chapter 13: Living With Techno-Fascism

Ahead of Christmas, every year in mid-November, Art Source holds an event in the RDS, a huge exhibition centre in south Dublin. Hundreds of artists get small booths or space on the wall to hang their works, while the curious, the art-loving, the investment-seeking, or simply those looking for a present, stroll around among all the colour. Last year I sold four paintings there and I sold three the year before. If I could do the same this year I wouldn’t have to keep an eye on the bank balance every time I was out and about during the holiday period.

My priority had to be to finish the incomplete paintings in my studio: with a full day’s work I could have six works ready for sale at the weekend. I’d cycled in early to La Catedral Studios – not long after dawn in fact – drunk a sugary black tea, and set up the first on my easel. Not long after beginning to paint, though, I found I just couldn’t help but check Neo’s posts on X. Would there be a response to the events of our dream last night? If my wishes could come true, I would see an announcement that the DreamAds project was over. In reality, of course, even if Neo did call a halt to DreamAds, he wasn’t likely to make that news public. And if I was being honest with myself, deep down I felt he wouldn’t stop and that I could never make him stop.

Painting. Check X. Painting. Check X. Painting. Check X. It was hard to concentrate and I was sure my work was suffering.

I’d never actually followed Neo’s posts on X before and what surprised me about them was how normal he seemed there. Slightly goofy, slightly nerdy, Neo liked to retweet memes from Star Wars and Star Trek; make posts about the successes of his own businesses; and repost talking points that favoured the far right, but in a smart way. He’d just add an emoji, or, ‘interesting’, or, ‘worth viewing’, to some clip of a podcaster making an observation that wasn’t crudely racist, or sexist, or anti-gay, but which had those foundations. There were layers upon layers in his communications, disguising what? My intuition, the residue of my dream, said that he was a misogynistic bully, a brute.

About mid-day there were footsteps behind me and then a tap on my partition. I turned to see Tony smiling hesitantly, pale yellow scarf swinging in the air as he leaned forward. This was the first time Tony had come down to my studio.

‘Hello Cyn, if I’m not interrupting…?’

‘Not at all. It’s good to see you.’

‘Would you join me on a tea break? I’d like to hear how you are getting along with Celine.’

The name Celine made me smile and instantly I recalled more of my dream. As a female Oscar Wilde, Celine had stopped Neo from shooting us.

‘Oh Tony, I’m an idiot.’

The thin face of my elderly friend was always expressive and now it changed to show surprise, his eyebrows lifting so quickly I had to laugh.

‘I’m sorry. It’s just that when you said “Celine” I had an insight. Last night, Celine and I got into Neo’s dream. I wanted to show him how repugnant his technology is. But I’ve just realized that he might not remember any of his dream. It might all have been a waste of time.’

‘You were in the dream of Neo the Edge? You were actually inside his dream? That’s incredible.’

‘I was. Let’s have that tea and I’ll tell you what I can remember of it.’

When we arrived at the table under the stairs, Paula and Carmel were there too. Both smiled to see me and Carmel was so pleased that she stood up and gave me a hug. Although she’d tried to disguise it with a flowery scent, a distinctly unpleasant chemical odour came from her head. Not that this stopped me from returning her affectionate clasp with equal enthusiasm.

‘You hair looks lovely,’ I said, sincerely, as I took a seat. ‘Bright and cheerful.’

Carmel waved away my compliment, ‘I did it myself, so there’s lots of bits missed, especially at the back. And it smells of ammonia.’

‘But you saved a lot of money,’ Paula looked up from her bowl of rice salad.

‘It seems professionally done to me,’ I said.

‘Thanks Cyn, that’s kind. How’s your DreamAds punishment going?’

Carmel’s question made me realise that the dynamics of my relationship with my fellow artists had changed since our last conversation at this table. Since then Tony and I had developed a more trusting and close relationship than I had with the two women. While I would have held nothing back from him, I found myself editing my answer before speaking in front of Paula and Carmel.

I told them nothing about the whistleblower and my adventure into Neo’s dream, only about losing and regaining my creativity, and I felt relief when the conversation turned to the forthcoming art show at the RDS. Carmel was going, as were all the senior studio members, and that was good for us lesser-known artists. Potential buyers with big budgets would be there to look at the works of established figures like Tony and hopefully be attracted by the works of unknown artists as they walked around the exhibition.

When Tony settled down, though, having made me a tea, he asked. ‘What’s it like in Neo’s dreams?’ From his tone of voice, the question amused him greatly, yet as soon as he looked at me, the smile faded.

‘Neo’s dreams?’ asked Carmel.

‘How interesting,’ said Paula.

While I took a drink of the tea, closing my eyes to appreciate the flavour, the scent, and the radiant warmth on my face, Tony must have regretted his question, because he tried to change the subject. It was too late though.

‘You were in Neo’s dream?’ asked Carmel. When I opened my eyes I saw her red-lipped mouth had formed an O shape of astonishment.

‘He has millions of followers. Did you ask him to promote your paintings?’ Paula, on the other hand, didn’t sound at all surprised. I felt she should have been as shocked as Carmel. For Amanda to have gotten past the firewall of the world’s leading tech company was surely a near-impossible achievement.

‘Someone offered me the chance to reverse the connection. To get into his dream and show him how disgusting the experience is.’

Carmel shook her head, peroxide locks swaying. ‘Eeew though, Neo the Edge’s dreams. I can’t imagine what they would be like. Disgusting probably.’

‘I think they would be fascinating,’ said Paula. ‘One might even discover a new idea there, a new innovation.’

There was a pause, everyone looking at me expectantly.

‘I don’t remember much of the dream. There was a hall full of people, smoking. It smelled terrible. Neo wanted to get rid of me – us? – and tried to shoot me but I could deflect the bullets with a sword.’

‘My God, Cyn! Where do you get the courage?’

‘My mother.’ I answered Carmel at once and realised that they wouldn’t understand. My mother might have been courageous. She probably was. Insofar as I had any strength though, it wasn’t inherited, it was the result of a terrible year of grief after her death. Nothing much mattered when measured against that. Don’t pick a fight with someone who has nothing to lose. They have nothing to stop them going all in.

‘Did you meet Neo’s soul there?’ asked Tony.

Although the other two laughed, it was a serious question. Had I met the equivalent to Celine?

‘I wish I could remember the dream properly. I think the answer is yes, kind of, in the background. There was a lot going on and yet I got the impression that I was acting out a script. Maybe the script writer was Neo’s id.’

‘Do you believe in souls, Tony?’ Paula had finished her lunch and put her bowl down on the table. I didn’t like the note of scepticism in the question.

First taking a sip of his tea, Tony gave Paula a gentle smile. ‘I’ve seen them.’

‘This would be important for science, I think.’

‘And art.’ There was a deep meaning to Tony’s answer, an assertation that his belief in souls mattered to his paintings.

I stepped in. ‘What Tony calls a soul, is, I think, what Freud called the id. It is already known to science. And I believe it has more autonomy than we, the wakeful part of the mind, normally credit.’

‘I remember you saying that,’ said Carmel, ‘and that’s what I experience when I paint. I try to let the unconscious take over.’

‘It always knows best in art,’ agreed Tony. ‘You can tell the artists who have listened to their souls.’

By contrast with her bright, bleached hair, Carmel’s eyes looked darker than ever, especially as she turned them towards me, holding my gaze. ‘Did you shake him up Cyn? Rock his dream until he felt sick?’

‘I did a bit.’  I was sure of that.

‘And will it do any good? I’d be so relieved if Neo gave up on trying to put adverts in dreams.’

I shook my head. ‘With hindsight, the whole exercise was useless. Neo might not remember the dream at all. And even if he did, he’s not going to end his plan for a new multi-billion company because of a nightmare or two.’

Paula nodded. ‘I read a biography of Neo once.’

‘How did he come across?’ I asked.

‘Very edgy, sexy, but totally untrustworthy.’

‘Like half the guys I’ve dated,’ I said. Carmel grinned at that.

‘Do you know what Celine thinks about your going into Neo’s dream?’ asked Tony.

A micro-dream came over me, a vision of a tiny Roman soldier in a washing machine, shield above his head as the foam starts to pour down on him.

‘She has something to say on the subject, but I haven’t the faintest idea how to translate it.’ The soldier was me, probably. Soon, I would be whirled around. In the momentary experience I’d been given, I didn’t feel as trapped or endangered as I should have.

Tony nodded. ‘Will you do it again? If you don’t mind me asking.’

‘I think it was a one-time deal. DreamAds have a firewall to block people from entering each other’s dreams. They probably won’t allow it to be breached again, at least not in the same way. I could be wrong though, I know nothing about that side of it.’

‘Well, on behalf of humanity, thanks Cyn for trying.’ Carmel raised her beaker of water as a toast and Tony lifted his china cup. Paula, too, after a moment.

‘De nada.’

After returning to my studio I found that the conversation had done me some good. No longer had I the slightest desire to open X and see what Neo was saying. Instead, I switched off my phone and set to work in earnest. By dark, I had my six paintings ready. When I turned on my phone again, though, the grim world of DreamAds and Neo came rushing back upon me. Like someone settling in for a night of their favourite TV series, only to have to flee from their home due to a life-threatening flood, I had to leave the joyous world of my imagination for a reality of techno-fascism. I had a message from Amanda on Signal.

Amanda

Neo has sacked the entire DreamAds IT security team and my colleague is missing. You NEED to deliver the virus or you could be next. I will see you tonight.