There’s not even a secret Organisational Management campus down here. They’re not even drilling mega-tunnels down here. There’s not even a bunch of kobolds living down here. We’re not even going to place explosives own here. We haven’t even reached the rock bottom of our despair down here. We haven’t even learnt some great lesson down to hear. We haven’t received our katabatic vision.
We’re desperate and tormented, sure – but not desperate and tormented enough. We’re stupid, certainly – but not stupid enough.
We haven’t reached rock bottom. We haven’t thrown ourselves into the abyss. We haven’t collapsed on the breast of the earth, sobbing.
We don’t have the depths – the spiritual depths. If we felt, really felt our despair, then we’d repent – wouldn’t we, Io? We’d actually regret what we were.
We’ve not even alcoholics. We’re not even drinking ourselves to death. We’re not even hopeless. Disgust hasn’t reached its limits, not in us. The disgust hasn’t really taken hold. It’s theoretical disgust: that’s all we feel. Except in you, Shiva. Except perhaps in you. Whip it up now: your frenzy of despair. Your wretchedness. You’re good at that. Maybe better than the rest of us. Which is why Livia singled you out. Which is why you’re our leader, or our anti-leader. Our uniquely fucked-up leader. Our leader in fucked-up-ness.
Work in Progress 