So why were we supposed to save philosophy, or whatever?
Maybe we’re supposed to finish off philosophy. Strike the death blow.
A dying art – that’s what we’re practising. An art that’s past its sell by date. An irrelevant art. That we’re not good at. An unwelcome art.
What would it be like to acquire gravitas?
Has any of us produced an opus maximus yet? A magnum fabbo, or whatever? Are any of us close to a masterpiece?
As though we had come after philosophy. After everything, having forgotten everything.
We’re guardians of the pathos. We stand guard over the great European moods. We have versions of them ourselves.
We lived between inverted commas. We were happy between inverted commas. ‘Philosophers’, right? ‘European philosophers’? ‘UK European philosophers’.
We lived in the alibi. We were happy – for a while. But then it began to catch up to us. Then it began to niggle us – the old worry. Then it came to us.
Philosophical Bad Company.
Philosophy idiots assemble.
The philosophy stupidity squad.
Idiot Soup.
Livia’s Z list. Livia’s Z team.
The Most Low. The Most stupid. The biggest idiots.
Idiots assemble. Suicide squad.
Work in Progress 