The postgraduate messiah will be the most stupid postgraduate who ever existed. But it will be a sublime stupidity. It will be a great stupidity.
The postgraduate messiah will be the most magnificent idiot. Vast. And swallowing up all so-called intelligence. Every clever thought.
The postgraduate messiah will be the one who should not existed. Who’s so twisted. So convoluted. So complexly folded. Whose hatreds are so various. Whose stupidities are manifold …
The postgraduate messiah will transmute all poison. Convert it within.
The postgraduate messiah will have explored every corner of death. Every part of the shadow of dying. Will have died a thousand times and been reborn from death.
The postgraduate messiah will be unable to lie. Unable to say a single false thing. With just one word on his lips: God.
Everything will be wrong about the postgraduate messiah.
The postgraduate messiah will be an even greater abomination than the Organisational Management campus.
I imagine the postgraduate messiah like Shakti, or something. Tongue sticking out. Riding a fucking tiger. Wielding some mace made of out of bones. Commanding some army of the undead.
Work in Progress 