Our School

To form a School. That’s why Cicero brought us to Newcastle. The last philosophical School. A school for the end times.

Kind of like Avengers Assemble, but without the super-powers.

But we had our super-powers. We had our specialisms. Driss has his psychofinalism. Barbarossa has his euthanatology. Io has her world history of salvation. Kitten has her pathophilosophy. Shiva has his holy negation. And Io …

Io is a visionary.

But we’d never have got anywhere with our so-called specialisms. Our so-called research was leading us nowhere. Trapped in our part-time work. Trapped in analytic philosophy departments, where we couldn’t speak of what we loved.

We’d never known what we were good for, before. What our talents, our anti-talents, were actually suited to.

And what were they suited to?

To parody European philosophy, of course … To perform our own grotesque version of it …

We were broken people, and our philosophy was broken. But Cicero liked our cracks. She liked us broken – our broken edges. Broken philosophers are the philosophers for our times: that’s what she said.

We weren’t part of anything, that’s what she said. Aliens. Strangers in a strange world, right? And we’re very fucking strange.

Theories of decline: Cicero liked those. Toynbee and Evola and all that. Accounts of the winter season. Of the latter days. Kali yuga. New kinds of primitivism and vulgarity. History falling to savages and barbarians.

And she wanted to further barbarism. To make things worse. She wanted to make things more frenetic. Life at the end is feverish life: that’s what she said.

Cicero was an accelerationist of madness. Wanting only madness, more madness. And deeper madness. And deeper death.

She wanted to see the dance of death, Cicero. Things that were dead, playing at life. Grotesque. Capering. She liked chimps. And baboons. And whatever it is we were. She liked running her zoo.

Philosophy had to fall to savages and barbarians, to apes and baboons, she said. To us, in other words.