It’s, like, the Organisational Management ice fortress.
When will be defrosted? Unthawed?
It’s not even a hunker-down winter. A Scando-hygge winter. That might be mitigated by candles and general cosiness.
It’s the off season of the universe. The great zero-summer.
This is the winter of snapped off icicles. Of ice-shards. Of winter in the blood. Of ice-chunks in the blood. This is the winter of the wind howl. The world howl.
Was that a wolf howl? Are there wolves on campus? Dire wolves? Sabre toothed tigers?
Where’s this wind blowing from? What’s it bringing with it, this wind?
There’s no defence against it. No place to hide. No corner you can turn to escape it.
The wind, channelled through the campus. Roaring through it.
Climate has changed. There’ll never be another summer. This is it. The climate reset.
This is the beginning of the new ice age.
It’s eternal winter. It’s nuclear winter. Nothing will grow, ever again.
Oh things will grow – twisted things, mutated things. Maybe even interesting things.
Ice sheets, lain over the university: that’s the future. The academy in the deep freeze.
Glaciers, rolling through the campuses.
The Campus is causing the weather. I’m sure of it. Some O.M. tech.
No – it’s Organisational Management itself. It’s utter intellectual aridity. It’s the frozenness of the soul.
Organisational Management’s changing the climate. The climate of the academe. The climate of the world.
The Organisational Management ice spear – thrown through our souls. Plunging through us.
What happens when the brain freezes – when it just freezes? Will we be able to think anymore? Will our brains work?
This is a new dimension of cold. It’s, like, ultra-numbness. Like a dead leg. But a dead body. A dead head.
The cold is a programming. It’s part of the whole thing. The cold is at work – it’s part of the whole operation. The general entrainment.
Is this the new ice age? Has it returned? Are the ice sheets coming south?
Are there ice mirages, like desert mirages? What do you see?
Nothing but the campus.
Maybe the campus is a mirage. A bad dream.
Did cold dream of Organisational Management, or did Organisational Management dream of the cold?
This is a special cold. It’s supposed to reach your bones. An ontological cold. It doesn’t obey the usual laws. It’s supposed to demoralise you.
Think summer thoughts, postgraduates! Think of the great summer conferences! Think of the campus in summer: think of the sward of green grass outside the café. Think of summer walks on the Town Moor. Think of summer trips to Longsands! To Whitley Bay beach!
Think the summers of your distant childhoods! Think summer school holidays! Think of beach time ‘neath the summer vault!
Work in Progress 