I buried the most famous person in the world

That’s right. I buried the most famous person in the world.

I could tell you their name but for reasons which will become obvious I will just refer to them as TMFP.

You knew their name better than your own. You knew their face better than your lover’s.

You called your children after them. You called your pets after them.

Many people deleted their photos of family and friends to free up space for photos of TMFP.

Television, film and radio were dominated by TMFP.

But increasingly people would just stare at a photo of TMFP.

People would choose the image which most appealed to them and fights would break out between devotees.

Soon cults sprung up. People clustering around, meditating on, praying to, worshipping specific images of TMFP.

The fights between the cults became larger and more vicious. People were killed.

The number of deaths kept rising, growing every day. It was approaching a point where the deaths would start growing exponentially.

At the same time trains stopped running, buses just stood still on the roads surrounded by abandoned cars.

Hospitals became vast morgues as people focused on TMFP to the exclusion of eating and drinking.

Some places were more badly affected than others. We lost the city of Clacton, home to the world famous Museum of Etruscan Art. The whole city burned overnight as rival TMFP cults fought and died.

TMFP just smiled and waved. They were pure Being-in-itself.

Fortunately not everyone was affected. Those of us who were immune, mainly the aphantasic, met in secret to develop a two part plan. To dispose of TMFP and to reset the world.

The reset would involve wiping everyone’s memory of TMFP and to dispose of all artefacts relating to them and their consequences. For example, the name of a small dull seaside town was changed to Clacton.

Disposing of TMFP was harder. We had the technology to change memories but we needed a figure to replace TMFP. Someone to override the associations as feelings sit differently to memory. The sadness, the sense of loss had to go somewhere, needed a hook to hang on.

So you will remember the media coverage of the funeral of that person, on every TV, in every paper. They were the lightning rod for those feelings

You know who I mean.

Meanwhile I had the job of dealing with TMFP.

Wovon man nicht sprechen kann…

Let’s draw a veil over their burial.

So given the colossal amounts of work involved in resetting the world to remove all trace of TMFP why am I writing this?

Well, we are only human. We have changed memories, records even the landscape and human culture but did we miss something? Could there still be a trace? A folk memory.

So I publish this piece of writing which contains a key phrase. The key phrase will only affect those who are still aware of TMFP on a subconscious level.

If you can read the next line below, the one which starts PALOMAR then I am sorry but you are mimetically infected and you will simply fall asleep and never reawaken.