Is this the land of the dead? There’s no one here. It’s not finished yet. They haven’t moved anyone in yet. There aren’t even any delivery riders. There’s no one. Except us.
It’s like one of those ghost cities in China. That they’re just going to demolish.
I wish they’d demolish this.
Do they realise it was a mistake? Are they pleased with it?
Like Organisational Management Disneyworld. The O.M. imagination, in full flight. Organisational Management dreams – all fulfilled!
Do you think the snow will settle? This snow – it’s greasy, somehow. And it’s not really white, is it?
Can you read the snow? Can you read the whirling snow? You can prophesize from the flight of birds. Can you read the snowflakes? What do they say? What’s in our future? Is there a future – a real future – that isn’t just more of this? Can you see anything messianic in the snow?
Can you read the wind – the howling wind? What can you hear in the wind?
Does this count as a blizzard?
Will the snow soften the corners?
A new ice age is setting in. The grand solar minimum.
A new cold, different from the old cold. Especially demoralising. A new kind of snow. Geo-engineered snow. Kinda grey. Kinda greasy.
Geoengineered cold. To demoralise. We’re not allowed to have the sun –the winter sun.
We need great coats, like Dostoevsky characters.
Might as well be on Nevsky prospect. Sennayan Square.
Feels positively communist, this snow. Very Aleksei German.
Very Russian, this snow. Very Anna Karina. Very Dr Zhivago. We’re spiritual Russians right? Of course we are. We’re Russian badasses.
It’s a demonic cold. World-without-heart cold. The cold of a corpse world. Of a world abandoned by its sun. That’s heading comet-like into the void.
I’m actually getting frostbite. I’ll never type again. They’ll have to amputate my fingers.
I’m going to sleep in the snow. I don’t care if I die. Fuck hypothermia.
Work in Progress 