The Proles

at work in the ministry of truth, i rewrite documents to change the past, to change history.  I rewrote over an article about comrade withers, who is now an 'unperson'. i created comrade ogilvy, a perfect man in our society. how beautiful it is to create a world to believe whatver you want. because what you believe to be true is true.
i also suspect syme will be vaporized soon. he speaks too eloquently, he is too intelligent. for working on the newspeak dictionary, he is incredibly knowledged in the party, they probably know. parsons, on the other hand, is so dull and mundane, no one would ever suspect him of thought crime.

that girl though...
i hate her
i love her
i dreamed about her last night she was in the field of the golden country. the girl with the dark hair, young like a fresh rose.
i saw her at lunch today too, she was watching from afar. is she a party member?
my wife, katherine, i havent seen in years. the parole on the outskirts i faintly remember
no thats a lie i dinstincly remember every moment

she was a prole. She threw herself down on the bed, and at once, without any kind of preliminary, in the most coarse, horrbile way you can imagine, pulled up her skirt. I-
I turned up the lamp. When I saw her in the light she was quite an old woman, fifty years old at least. But I went ahead and did it just the same. 
If there is hope, it lies in the paroles
the 85% underneath us, they are not as brainwashed as the party members, they have feelings and longings and understand human desires. They cannot be controlled because they are much more than big brother, in the sense of capacity. 

(p.s. excuse my terrible grammar nowadays we dont even write or type we only use speakwrites and im struggling a lot with this)