It just takes too long to freeze to death. And it’s too cold.
Hey, postgraduates – do you want to die? Is it time to die? It’s a blessing. Life doesn’t hold out much hope for you.
Come on, they might actually get jobs. Lectureships. They’re Russell Group PhD students, after all. They’re not coming from the same place as we are. They’re not crawlers out of the primordial slime. They’re not creatures from the lower league table universities.
Yeah – they’re not twisted like us. Noting’s gone fundamentally wrong with the heads.
Which means they won’t write our mutant philosophy. Our fuck up philosophy –
– Which we don’t even write.
Our postgraduates aren’t as fucked up as we are. They don’t have our deep problems.
Maybe not. That means they’re temptable! Biddable!
Unlike us! Unlike our kind! The hysterical kind!
They’re calmer. Better, probably.
I mean, look at us: we’re not even philosophers. My God, how wretched we are.
And they don’t find their wretchedness funny: that’s a big thing. They’re not amused by their plight, as we are at our plight. We actually find ourselves funny. We actually entertain ourselves.
Work in Progress 