They’re going to plug this campus directly into Hell. That’s what will light it up – keep it going.
This place isn’t supposed to depend on the grid. Supposed to function all by itself. Keep switched on in any state of emergency. Energy independence, right?
Energy Satanism, more like.
Helmut, walking ahead of us in some epic Heideggerian sulk. In his fortress of sulky solitude.
Do you think Heidegger was a sulker?
He was a Nazi.
Heidegger was a Nazi, Helmut. Did you know that?
Helmut, silent.
There must have been part of you that wasn’t entirely Heideggerian once, Helmut. At some stage. That’s what we’re appealing to. Didn’t you used to be a laugh or something, before you lifted yourself into pious Heideggerianism? Into the Heideggerian firmament, far above us mortals?
Clacton’s finest Heideggerian
Helmut, wandering off, like that nihilist penguin in that Herzog film about Antarctica. That’s totally disoriented. Wandering off into the heart of the continent to a certain death.
Don’t go, Helmut! Don’t leave us! We won’t take the piss out of your thought-hero anymore, we promise!
Helmut – Is it him? (Calling out) Is it you, Helmut? An apparition – like the Angel of the Somme. Come to save us! Come to lead us to safety! Only a Heideggerian can save us now …
Here you are, Helmut. A giant Heideggerian. Just what we needed. We thought we’d lost you. Thought we’d driven you away.
We’ve become as one (except you maybe, Io). We think as one (not you, perhaps, Io). We use the same words (excepting you, Io). We think about the same things (you think more about God, Io). The same things occupy us (nearly the same). We’re at the bottom of the same pit (even you, Io). We scream in the same night, with the same scream (even if God hears your screams, Io).
God hears your screams, too Io says.
Why do we actually use these names she gave us? Cicero’s names? I mean, we don’t have to now she’s … gone.
We’re used to them, I guess.
They‘re like superhero names. I do not want to be called Nigel anymore.
I like Furio …
I was never keen on Driss …
Have you seen an angel, Io? A like, punk angel?
No.
Do you have any special angel summoning powers? Can you pray one up for us?
Io, shaking her head.
So what’s the deal with the bad angels – are there bad angels?
A tenth of angels fell.
Lucifer fell, didn’t he?
Lucifer was their leader. Very beautiful. His name meant, morning star.
Is Lucifer Satan? I’m confused.
Same difference.
There were bad angels, right?
The sons of God had sex with human females. That’s what it says in Genesis. And the Nephilim were born. Who were all wiped out in the Flood. But who survive as disembodied spirits, looking for someone to inhabit. So don’t play with Ouija boards, kids.
We’ve left history behind. We’re in some new realm now. Spiritual time – maybe that’s it. Metaphysical time, or whatever. As in the days of Noah, right Io?
We are the uni: that’s what the Union used to say. But we aren’t the uni – we can’t be. And it’s the way that we’re not of it – the way we negate it that is the point. We’re the opposite of all this. Philosophy is! Philosophy’s the great no to it all – European philosophy, at least.
This is the Organisational Management prison. The Organisational Management incarceration.
Only it presents itself as the Organisational Management ark – as Organisational Management salvation. It’ll only save us by killing us.
Trapping Philosophy. Incarcerating Philosophy. That’s what it’s about. They need to do it.
But why Philosophy?
Because it’s the queen of the fucking sciences, of course. To show the Queen of the Sciences who’s boss. Make it do its bidding.
Organisational Management wants us buckled. Bowed. It wants our servility. That’s how it knows it’s alive.
It’s how it knows it is what it is.
What?
It’s about the self-definition of Organisational Management. Organisational Management itself is founded upon the confining of Philosophy. Upon discipling it. Showing it who’s boss. That’s its condition.
Organisational Management wants philosophy to live on – in Organisational Management. Organisational Management wants to preserve Philosophy – in a kind of museum. Within itself.
Organisational Management’s going to let philosophy live. But defanged. Made safe.
The incarceration of Philosophy will confirm Organisational Management as Organisational Management. As stronger than Philosophy – better than it.
We’re in the Organisational Management archipelago. In the Organisational Management penal colony. In the Organisational Management mental asylum. Because isn’t that what it is?
The Organisational Management campus is just a more intense version of what the world already is. Technocracy – nothing but technocracy.
And it's essential that they let Philosophy live on – in captivity. That's part of it.
These science fiction buildings.
How much did they cost? How can the university afford this?
Organisational Management money, right? Organisational Management drew it down.
From where? From Galacticus?
From the globalists. Or whoever. From the powers and fucking principalities.
They’ll be building these places all over the world. Places like this. From some globalist blueprint. From some globalist kit, shipped to your city in big boxes. Or 3D printed …
An Organisational Management campus, rising up out of some brownfield site in a city near you.
It doesn’t hide the fact that it’s technocratic that’s the thing. It’s like it’s boasting about being technocratic. It’s unashamed. Unabashed. It doesn’t want to be anything else.
The light shining from their surfaces.
They were designed this way. To reflect the faux Northern Lights. To flash it back to the false sky. To the satellites, watching us.
Dwarfed, that’s what we’re supposed to feel. By metal. By our metallic future. By the light flashing on metal.
What do they want with us? Why did they build these things?
Because they can.
Because they have metal hearts.
Because they have no hearts.
Because they weren’t born to a human mother. Because they’re aliens. Or lizards. Or something. Because they’ve beamed in from another dimension.
Sharp buildings. Shards, flying jaggedly upwards.
Thorn buildings. Metal thorns, cracked through the ice.
It’s got a kind of military feel. Like these are weapons, or something. Aimed at the sky.
They’re all at angles, these buildings. Shafts of metal stuck in concrete. Like they’re stabbing up the fake sky.
It’s like the crown of thorns. Metal thorns sticking up from the earth.
Metal cladding. Like some metal armour – protecting what?
All this metal cladding. metal exoskeletons …
Because otherwise they just wouldn’t look inhuman enough.
Why does it all have to be metal?
For, like, maximum alienation.
Who actually wants to live in science fiction?
The effectivised campus.
Is that a word?
The operationalised campus.
They’re like giant robots. Mega-synths. Ready to stride across some apocalyptic landscape. Of fly off into the burning sky like metal pterodactyls.
They’re a sign of their hatred. For all of us. For humanity.
Humanity … there’ll be no humanity, soon.
Stupidity is the clue. Stupidity is the doorway. It’s unfathomable, our stupidity. It has depth. It is something, rather than a lack of something.
They talk of radical evil. Shouldn’t they also talk of radical stupidity? It’s not just being thick.
The desert grows, Cicero said. But we are creatures of the desert. We’re nothing but desert.
Work in Progress 