Face it, no one actually wants to lead. We’re leaderless. Rudderless. And we’re heading over the waterfall.
Let’s get horizontal. It’s not helping. Just lying down isn’t going to solve anything. The floor of dread’s a bit tedious, actually.
If you don’t need the floor of dread, don’t lie on the floor of dread.
Cometh the hour, cometh our true leader. Come actual competence! You don’t know how we’ve needed you, Gazelle. To lead us out of our mire! To lift us from the floor of dread!
Gazelle, leap above us. Let us ee your leap. Across us. Above us, our recumbent bodies. Flashing through our sky. Like a meteor. Except exiting. Burning its way out of the atmosphere. Heading off on some unfathomable voyage. To the end of night? Through nihilism and beyond!
Yes, we’re bored of being alive. Someone light the fuse. Light the fuse of life! There’s life in death yet! There’s life in our dull ol’ dying! There are still a few more turns in the labyrinth. We aren’t entirely spent. Aim us at something. Shoot us at something. Blast us off.
Postgraduate reps, you’re the most alive amongst us. We’re defeated. Are you defeated. There’s a little life in you, isn’t there?
Lead us somewhere. Take us away from this. We need a new hope. We need to believe. Take us to the paragrads. Take us to Nimrod. Take us underground, to the old department.
Our heads are too full. We’ve known too much. We’ve lived too long. Simplicity – that’s what we want. A postgraduate gesture. Aren’t we tired of being alive? Tired of incessancy! Of the tired old endlessness! Of the on and on. Tired of the same remaining the same. And oppressively the same.
We need real leadership. The leadership of holy fools. The leadership of those least qualified, and therefore least corrupted. The leadership of innocents. The leadership of fools. We’ll take anything.
We’d settle for Fiver’s leadership, but he’s silent. He’s all too quiet.
We’re headless now. Without Livia! Shiva’s leading us only into the grave.
If it were up to Shiva, we’d simply lie in our graves, waiting for the Resurrection. Waiting for something to save us from without. Agency! That’s what we need! Purpose! If it were Shiva’s call, we’d just sink into the floor of dread, letting it engulf us. Letting it swallow us. Torpor! Indolence! General giving up! Gelassensheit, eh Helmut?
Time for the postgrad reps report. Anything to say? Postgraduates, shaking their heads. Nothing to report. Too bad. No postgraduate’s report. Nothing to tell us.
Wine! That’s what we need! Forget mead! We need to be disgusted. We need our disgust to lift us – to rile us. We need to be angry.
Work in Progress 