Author: Lars Iyer

The campus revealed. We should be grateful that it was revealed. That we’ve seen it now for what it is. …

Have we worked out the truth now? The truth of this campus? Which is to say, the lie of this campus. Which is to say, the nothing of this campus?

 

We’re being shown the secret campus. The campus within the campus.

Do you think?

We’re being shown Secrets. The campus is confiding in us. The campus is whispering in our ears.

 

It’s the very completeness of this campus that makes it incomplete. It’s the fact that it’s whole that makes it a fragment.

We can see beyond it because we cannot see beyond it. We know there’s more because we know nothing but this campus.

Because it’s won, I know we’ll win. Because it’s triumphed, I know we’ll triumph.

 

The university is being revealed as what it is. For what it is. As Organisational Management – nothing but Organisational Management. As Organisational Management, in all its details. As Organisational-Managing – nothing else.

 

And soon our civilisation will reveal itself as what it is. As Organisational Management – nothing but Organisational Management.

The university is only now revealing itself in its truth. As what it is now. As all it can be. The university is only being honest. Only showing what it is. The university’s only taken its mask off. Only revealed its real purpose.

 

The campus is the world and the world’s the campus. That’s the way it’s going. They’ll be indistinguishable.

It’ll only be so long before they ask us to live here. To move in. That’s when the last part of the trap closes.

Yeah, as life beyond the stony wastes becomes harder and harder. Before the rest of the world turns to cannibalism, or whatever. Before it all turns zombie wars, or whatever.

 

The Organisational Management campus is the desert. It’s the testing ground.

A new barrenness, a new scantness, a new emptiness. A new hostility! Which demands, in its turn, a new wakefulness! A new vigilance!

It’s supposed to be a thinking campus. A campus for ideas.

What do these buildings think about? What is the glass and steel thinking? And these paving stones? These fancy lampposts? And what do they think of us, wandering through?

They’re monitoring us, that’s all I know. They’re listening to our conversation. For keywords and phrases. They’re measuring our body temperature. The rate our hearts beat. Any … agitation we might be feeling.

 

They’re tagging us, tracking us, measuring us, coding us, rating us, restricting us …

 

They’re reading our minds. They know that we’re against them. They know that we’re negation – pure negation. That we hate them.

They’re probably spraying things to calm us down. They’re pumping something into the air, to alter our mood. They’re probably changing the lightning, to make us see things differently.

 

Campus surveillance. Campus supersurveillance.

They can read our thoughts, pretty much … Our misinformational thoughts. Our disinformational thoughts.

They can see into your soul. If we actually have souls … If they haven’t already  sucked them out.

 

Do you think the lampposts are listening? Are we being monitored? Are the algorithms picking out dubious phrases? Are we being flagged as dangerous subversives?

 

They're probably listening to us now. AREN’T YOU, FUCKERS? They're enjoying following us working out their plans.

Come on, satanists, flash the campus lights if you can hear us! Give us a sign! Beam something into the heavens! Light up the fucking clouds!

 

Haven’t we always feared it: a knock on the door? The secret police?

But what’s worse: that there will be no knock at the door. That they have us contained, that’s all – perfectly. They know we won’t do anything. They know we’re not any real threat. They have us contained. In the uni. In the humanities. In Philosophy – particularly in Philosophy.

They’ve already won: that’s what this campus says. They’ve conquered the territory. They’re busy with the clear-and-hold op now.

 

They won the battle: that’s what this campus says. And now they’re letting us live on, to see their victory. To live out our humiliation.

 

They’ve swallowed the world: that’s what the campus says. It’s all been devoured. Newcastle isn’t Newcastle anymore. The meaning of the world’s been changed.

This is the new architecture, postgraduates. Take note.

We’ll live and work in places like this. The campus will swallow up the city – the old city. Will incorporate it. They know what they’re doing. This is the new urbanism. Study it well.

 

This campus is itself an education, postgraduates. An anti-education. It’s everything we’re against, in every detail.

Which is why it’s an opportunity. To hold yourself in absolute tension with your surroundings. To know that you’re out of this world – any part of this world. You have to know what you’re not.

Probably the whole design was bought from some  globalist’s template. Probably exactly the same campuses are being built all over the world. In one hundred and four campuses at once. Designed for mind control.

It’s part of the great globalist coup d’etat. The whole synchronised global takeover. They’ve perfected the legal framework. The financial framework. This is part of the architectural framework.

 

Once the world order is complete. Once you’ve done the clear and hold. Secured the territory. Put down the revolts and all possible revolt. Once the World Solution has been found.

It’s part of the clear and hold op. That’s what they’re up to. Wiping out little pockets of resistance in the uni.

Look, these guys are in charge of the entire planet. There’s no external enemy. So they’re just going through their occupied territory, trying to enforce ideological uniformity.

 

They’re decommissioning the old reality, and implementing a new one. Right in front of our eyes. And everyone’s going along with it. A thousand years of darkness: that’s what’s coming. Slavery. A slavery system. The new Hell. They’re building Hell. A false reality. A fake reality.

We’ve come to the dragon’s lair.

We’ve been made to come.

They’re going to try to fuck with our heads. To do things to us.

We’ve resisted up to now, haven’t we?

But this is their place. Their zone. Where they’re at their strongest.

 

The campus has plans for us. The campus is programming us. This is campus brainwashing. Happening in real time!

 

This the cage.

It doesn’t look like a cage.

This is the trap.

 

We’re enclosed. Trapped. It’s a big trap, but a trap nonetheless. I feel a kind of … claustrophobia. Which is indistinguishable from agoraphobia. The vastness of the campus is an enclosed vastness. The infinite size is a finite size, is contained within limits. This isn’t our place. It’s alien.

It’s doing things to us, this campus. It’s working on us.

It’s leading us. Driving us. As though it were some kind of cattle run – a very gentle cattle run. As though it were some gentle abattoir.

 

We’re being channelled by the campus. Led somewhere.

We’re being borne along to its centre. There’s somewhere it wants us to go.

 

It’s like there’s a tractor beam. We’re being drawn – pulled across the campus. Some magnetic force. It’s like we know where we have to go. It’s fate. We’re being drawn further and further in.

 

The way it’s all laid out. They’ve put thought into this. Planning. It must be based on some UN model of population pacification. They know what they’re doing. This isn’t random. Perfect for social control, or whatever. Perfect for future lockdowns …

It’s working on us now. Can’t you feel it? The very architecture. The very layout of the buildings. The paving stones they use.

 

They know what they’re doing. They know what the effect of all this is on us. The dwarfing. The feeling of futility. Of impotence. That others, greater than us are in charge. That there’s no point in lifting a finger against them.

Europe! So far away! France! Germany! So inconceivable! So unreal!

We’ve never even been. We’ve never even dared to go. We can’t imagine what it would like to visit Paris. Imagine it: Paris. Let alone Berlin!

Hasn’t Paris got gates to keep our kind out? Hasn’t it got detectors? Wouldn’t the Parisian air itself rebel if we tried to breathe it in? Wouldn’t the Parisian cobbles heave upwards in protest, if we tried to walk on them?

 

Better to deny it altogether: there’s no such thing as Paris. There is no Paris, there cannot be. Paris is a step too far. They made Paris up. We’re stuck in our Truman Show, which has only has a painted Paris.

No Paris, and no University of Paris 7 and no École normale supérieure. And no Sorbonne. And no seminars. Derrida never existed. Lacan. No, no. Let alone Deleuze. Especially Deleuze. There never was a Paris. Paris is impossible. Paris cannot be. There’s only the Organisational Management campus.

 

The Anglophone enthusiast kind. The don’t-really-speak-the-language kind. The desperate provincials. Who’ve turned, for some reason, to what they do not understand and cannot understand. To what they’re not equipped to understand. To what must lie forever beyond them …

 

Of course, Cicero was a European, and even an Eastern European. English was her third language. But here were Europeans en masse. What the plural noun for a bunch of Europeans? A Culture. A High Brow. A Loftiness. A in-crowd. An Intelligentsia.

 

Real Europeans are kinda scary. Do you mean you really came from France. From Germany? All that way. All that distance.

 

We’re desperately provincial! Pathetically so! We shouldn’t be let out of the provinces. We confine ourselves to the provinces. Voluntarily.

The likes of us shouldn’t be allowed to travel about the world. From here to there. We should stay in our adopted region. Locked in our houses. Our rooms. Should defile the rest of the world. Should spread across the rest of the world, like a plague.

 

We have no thoughts! We have no ideas! Nothing of our own! The cupboard is bare! The tank is empty! There was never anything there! We think with other people’s ideas. Which we barely understand.

We push around the ideas of others. Badly! Incompetently! There’s nothing new or original about us.

 

To have been raised to these heights … is grotesque. To have given us lectureships. No, no. It’s not in the order of things. It makes us question the entire order of things.

There are such things as ranks. As hierarchies. No – lectureships should have fallen to us. Not to us. Not to our kind.

Say what you will about us, but we know our place. And Cicero lifted us above our places. We’ve been Elevated – illegitimately. We’ve been Lifted – into the wrong place. We’re on the wrong shelf. These aren’t our offices, not really. This isn’t our department. 

It’s like David Byrne sings: this isn’t our quadrangle. This isn’t our lecture theatre. These aren't our private-school-educated students.

What about the Humanities Liberation Army?

They don’t exist.

They will, though. They’re going to. If they put us under any more pressure …

 

We should start the Humanities Liberation Army. Right now. It should be us. We should lead the vanguard. Be the change you want to see, and all that.

We should look for Cicero in the tunnels. She’s probably gone underground – literally. Joined forces with the remnants of the old department. She’s probably running her operation from there.

 

The tunnel postgraduates have lost their eyes – that’s what I’ve heard. They don’t need them anymore. They feel their way through the darkness. Sniff their way through it. They’re terribly pale. And hunched over. They’re not quite used to standing upright.

 

What were these tunnels even built for?

To get the coal to the quayside. And for culverts – rivers they sent underground.

It was the postgrads who linked up the tunnels. They dug through. Dug more. So that we now have the catacombs of Newcastle, kinda like the ones in Paris. There’s a whole secret city down here. With its own rules. Its own way of doing things.

 

There’s, like, a natural cave system down here as well, apparently. Very ancient. With its own rock art.

Bollocks.

There’s a whole northeast command unit, I know that. It was built in case of nuclear war. As part of an alternative command structure.

And there’s bound to be some Newcastle billionaire building a bunker down here.

 

Our nation underground. Our philosophy nation. This is where all the humanities will have to go, in the end: to the tunnels.

 

Under the city. Actually, under the university. It’s the counter university. The university in secret.

 

The caves are deep. They’re like a honeycomb.

They’re like a brain. The counterbrain of Newcastle. The deep brain that’s thinking about deep things …

 

Cicero’s the ultimate white hat. She’s coming to save us. To overturn the tables.

So you really think Cicero is going to save us. Is it like QANON? Are there Cicero drops?

I found this weird X account. Sounds like Cicero. Listen. That’s her.