Author: Lars Iyer

And all your apocalypse stuff. Don’t you see that we’re supposed to think we’re in the end times? That we’re supposed to think it’s all catastrophe. Because that’s what gives them emergency powers. And when they have emergency powers, they can do exactly as they please. That’s how they rule us, right? There’s no time for all the usual democracy stuff. No time for the usual rule of law. Checks and balances. They can drive a coach and four through all that stuff.

So you, with your apocalypse, are just feeding the frenzy. Because it’s exactly how they want us to look at things. They just want us afraid, right? They want fear and fear and fear. There must be a word for that: government through fear. What's Greek for fear?

 

End times? Come and gone. This is the afterlife. Or the afterdeath. We’re all dead. I’m dead and you’re dead, and everyone’s dead.

 

The word has ended. The world hasn’t ended. I am alive. I am dead, They can’t both be true.

A book that is unwritten rather than written. A book that is subtracted from the world rather than adding to it. A book that’s lost. A book that wanders off, whistling.

A book that … fades. That disperses like morning mist. A book that evaporates like puddle of rain.

A book .. scarcely a book. A rumour of a book. A breath of a book. Even a gasp … of a book.

A book that is not yet a book. A half book. A quarter of a book. A book standing in for a book. A book that isn’t yet a book … or isn’t anything.

 

It can be the last book. The last literary book.

The last book should be the most neglected book. The least important book. A book that doesn’t draw attention to itself. A book that’s scarcely even written. That barely even exists.

Our stupidity is immense! Contourless! Impossible to … circumscribe. It’s vast. It’s encompassing. I think our stupidity’s increasing, if anything. Like the night getting darker.

Do you think?

 

Listen to us, weaving nonsense out of nonsense. Our creatio ex nihilo. Our creation of nothing from nothing from nothing. A miracle! An anti-miracle!

Someone should stop us! Someone should put a stop to this. 

What would we be without our stupidity? We wouldn’t be anything. That’s what we are. It’s what defines us. It’s what turns us to one another in recognition. It’s what gives us company.

 

Everything is waiting. To be delivered from itself. To be lifted from itself. To be changed, in its condition. To be altered.

And we’re waiting, too. To be delivered of our stupidity. But what would happen then?

 

We did it! But did what? We’re not transformed. We haven’t improved. We carried our stupidity into the university. And the university changed nothing.

 

Can stupid philosophers philosophise? We can try. Are stupid philosophers even philosophers? 

Stupid philosophers can philosophise about their stupidity. But aren't we too stupid?

We’ve drunk the night through. It’s an achievement. We saw the night through, with our drinking. We accompanied the night, with our drinking. Drank our way through it. Drank through the night and into the morning.

We’re defeating ourselves. Our heads are defeating us. We stand in our own way.

If only we could be rid of ourselves … If only we could be fundamentally different to the way we are …

If only we had another chance – another life. To start all over again. Not to have got it so wrong. Not to have taken every wrong turn.

The world has moved beyond philosophy. It doesn’t want philosophy. Oh, analytic philosophy – sure. Analytic philosophy will always have a place. But European philosophy – true philosophy? World philosophy – the philosophy of India, of China? No room for that.

This is the Notch.

What’s the notch?

A space for contemplation. An area that has no purpose.

Amazing. And this was designed. Added into the building.

My husband’s idea. To foster unexpected encounters. A whatever space. That can be used … however anyone likes. An ideas generator. A place for ideas jamming.

Ideas-jamming!? Really?

Or just to breathe. For periods of contemplation. And even meditation.

Of fuck off! Fuck off!

This whole campus is just going to blast off into space. It’s just going to sail off in search of a new habitable planet, the whole thing. Just blast through the darkness and search for some new planet it can build an Organisational Management civilisation …

Campus in the stars, right?

 

The glittering campus. Floating on forever. Looking for another planet. To, like, organisationally manage.

The Organisational Management solution: everywhere. At every level. In all the details.

The Organisational Management paradigm. The Organisational Management ascendancy.

The world has essentially been delivered over to its care.

 

Organisational Management confidence. Sleekness. Their sense of being on the rise.

Organisational Management optimism. Organisational Management zeal. True, it’s not a braggart’s confidence. They’re not arrogant in their manner. They’re not overweening.

The Organisational Management project. The Organisational Management takeover – except that they don’t think of it as a takeover.

There’s a job to be done, and done well, that’s all. There are demonstrable strengths to Organisational Management, and they’re needed. As we are not, in Philosophy. As we lag behind, in Philosophy. As we’re good for nothing in Philosophy …

The Organisational Management implementation. And what are they implementing? Organisational Management, of course. More Organisational Management! Organisational Management for every problem! Organisational Management solutions for all things!

 

The rise of Organisational Management is a sign of a new seriousness in Business Studies. More of a programme than ever before. More determined than before. More of a push.

Business Studies isn’t just standing there bewildered, scratching its head. Organisational Management is not a rube anymore. It’s not a Johnny-come-lately to the academic scene. It has no insecurities about its academic status. It’s no longer a poor relation. No longer a country cousin.

Organisational Management belongs – and more than belongs! Organisational Management leads! Organisational Management knows what to Do! Organisational Management has taken the wheel – the faculty wheel and soon the university wheel. There’ll be Organisational Management science! Organisational Management medicine!

We actually Get On. You can’t make that up. We can Talk. I can talk to you in a way I can’t talk to anyone. It’s not even that it’s about particular things.

It’s just … a lightness … I feel lightened by your company. I feel lighter than I was. Even though we always talk about these dark, dark things.

 

Do you ever get bored of me, philosopher?

No.

Do you wonder whether I get bored of you? I’ll bet it doesn’t cross your mind … That anyone could find you anything but fascinating.

 

I miss you … at particular times of day. At out fucking times. The afternoon, of course. Afternoons with you.

 

How did you learn to speak like this?

I read philosophy in A level French. Camus, Sartre.

Those guys.

Are they passe now? Are they gauche?

You should have studied philosophy – why didn’t you?

Because I wanted to do something useful.

 

You seem bored.

Sure – I’m bored of the living. You guys bore me. When you’re dead, everything bores you. All the franticness of the living.

Yet you’d like a fuck.

There’s a connection between sex and death. You know that.

 

How have you been? Still dead?

Still – dead.

How about romance – is that waking you up?

 

I’m death with open eyes. I see everything from the point of view of the dead.

 

Don’t touch me. Do nothing.

 

The sadness of happiness. Of a content life. The sadness of what love becomes. Habit.

 

I hate them more and more since I’ve been hanging out with you. I hate my husband and I hate my life and I hate my house. And I hate Organisational Management .

 

What’s happening to my life? Where am I going?

 

Would I be happy here? Could I settle here? With you? What would I do here? How would I occupy myself while you worked? I could be your muse, couldn’t I? What philosophical thoughts would I inspire?