There’s still an outside to this campus, postgraduates, hard as it is to believe. There’s a whole world out there, beyond the stony wastes at the campus-edge. There’s a whole world as yet unreached by the Organisational Management Campus. That’s as yet untouched by the University.
The useless population: that’s what’s out there, postgraduates. Untouched by the university. Untutored! Unprocessed! Unruined! Uncorrupted! Whose education didn’t take, beyond the stony wastes.
It’s all disinformation and misinformation, beyond the stony wastes. Full of hate speech! They’re all domestic terrorists out there. They’re all wackos and nutjobs, beyond the stony wastes. They’re not on board … They’re not with the programme, beyond the stony wastes …
Such vulgar people out there, beyond the stony wastes. Low people. Never planning their actions. Never thinking things through. Never considering the morrow – the rest of the day even, beyond the stony wastes.
They’re the useless people out there. The unbusy. The unoccupied. Who can’t even look after their own interests. Loiterers without plan. Guileless. Witless. They just stand there, catching flies.
They’re in the way, out there. Like dementia patients. Like bed blockers. They’re living obstructions. To a useful society. To an efficient society.
They’re unproductive, out there, beyond the stony wastes. They’re good-for-nothings. Dependents. They’re not even wily. Not even grifters. They’re not even taking advantage. Not even on the take. They aren’t even out for themselves, nor really. They can’t even stand up for themselves. They can’t even advocate for themselves. They need help filling in forms.
They’re the exasperating, out there. They’re plain annoying. They won’t follow rules. They aren’t defiant, just … recalcitrant. Unreformable. They’re not even pitiful. They don’t even arouse the feeling of pity. They don’t even call forth human compassion. They’re undeserving even of maternal instinct.
Nothing can be done for them, out there, beyond the stony wastes. Nothing can be given to them. They’d only vandalise it anyway. They’d only soil their own nests.
And they’re obese, out there. They eat the wrong things. They have all the wrong habits. They’re degraded. Toxic. They should be quarantined. How long are they for this world? Before they develop some prole myxomatosis? How long before they spread it to the rest of us?
They’re really sub everything, out there, beyond the stony wastes. They’re not even human – not really. Which is why all the bad batches were sent their way. All the opiates. Why every attempt was made to addict them. To cancer them. To sterilize them, at least.
Why is why all the bad batches were sent their way. All the opiates. Every attempt was made to addict them. To cancer them. To sterilize them, at least. Which is why they’ve been micro-plastic’d. Chem-trailed. Geo-engineered. Mercury’d. Aluminium’d. Borion’d. Even more than the rest of us!
They’re the undeserving poor, out there, beyond the stony wastes. The despicable poor. The disgusting poor. The no-one-knows-what-to-do-with-them poor. Human cul-de-sacs, having only their idiosyncrasies to show. Their weirdnesses.
They’re recalcitrant, out there. They’re playing truant from life – from the responsibilities of life. They’re plebians. Low lifes. Who cannot be otherwise. They’re background noise. Noises off. Extras of life. Human magma. They’re a perpetual affront. Problem children and problem adults. Racists, probably.
They’re inglorious, out there, beyond the stony wastes. Uncelebrated, disliked, rude. Faintly scary, or just outright scary. They’re disliked – by everyone. Disjecta. The equivalent of slurry. Of industrial waste.
They’re truants – but agelessly so. Endlessly so. The socially passed over. Social refuse. Socially dead. Just a remnant, that’s all. A nameless and powerless residue. An anthropological residue, arousing only a general repugnance. Who don’t know how to live, but just live. Stubbornly. Persistently. Having only their idiosyncrasies to show. Their weirdnesses. Their legitimate and illegitimate strangenesses.
They have no answer as to why they exist, out there, beyond the stony wastes. Or what they are. Or what they’re for. Which is why they’ve long since been declared exterminable. Declared murderable. Declared extinguishable. Declared poisonable. Declared destroyable.
But they are the destroyable who will not be destroyed, out there. They are the exterminable who will not be exterminated. They are the poisonable who will not be poisoned.
They’re unreachable out there, beyond the stony wastes, even though the state has all their contact details. They’re untrackable, though the state can track and trace them anywhere. They’re unprogrammable, though the state controls all the media they watch.
They’re invisible, even in their visibility. They’re inaudible, even though you can hear everything they say. They’re unknowable, even though we know everything about them. They’re secret – even though they keep no secrets. They’re hidden in their very unhiddenness. The all-seeing eye can see everything but them.
Which is why they’re our people out there, beyond the stony wastes. Our brethren. Which is why they’re the ones we’re thinking for. Which is why they’re the ones who place we keep. Whose memory we serve. Because they’re the ones we nearly are. Who belong to the non-university. To the non-institution.
They’re the true idiots – not like us, pretend idiots. They’re the real imbeciles. Who we are. Our mirrors. They’re even disabled. Just … unable. They’re not even neurodivergent. Just divergent.
They’re not even of the kingdom of God out there, beyond the stony wastes. They’re not even the beloved of Jesus. Who are not even the meek that will inherit the earth. They’re not even a proletariat. Or a lumpenproletariat. Which is why they’re our kind. To whom we’re always answerable.
Work in Progress 