Work in Progress

Our anti-pilgrimage through the Organisational Management campus. Our devil’s journey across the Organisational Management campus.

The very opposite of a journey in search of new meaning, of a higher good. The very opposite of a search for wholeness, for personal transformation. Of an act of penance.

An act of defiance, instead. A journey in rejection of new meaning – Organisational Management meaning. A journey against false light – the false Organisational Management light.

A pilgrimage against the liar’s kingdom. Against the false religion of glass and steel. Against this world of death. This dead matter. Against stones and bitumen and asphalt and cement. Against cast iron and steel and glass and aluminium.

Against the new machine. The body of a new spiritual power, rising in revolt. Against the true sky. Against the real earth.

The Organisational Management campus is the testing ground. The new desert, where the first monks ventured. The Organisational Management campus gives us the barrenness we need. A new emptiness! A new harshness! Which demands, in its turn, a new wakefulness!

We’re like some sleeper cell that’s waking up. That’s remembering what it has to do.

This the emergency – our emergency. Nothing else is important. Nothing else gives any meaning to our lives. This is where we awaken at last. Discover what our orders are. Learn what we’re actually for …

The false light of this campus. The false salvation of this campus. Its false kingdom. This is the city of the anti-God. This is the antichrist’s city. The liar’s kingdom. Trust none of this.

 

Let us never adjust to this. Let us never accept this. Let it be a perpetual outrage. Let it never be allowed to complete its work on us.

We must not trust this campus. Its world – its cosmos. This is not our place – remember that.

That isn’t our sky, above us. And it isn’t our earth, below. We can’t see the earth. The land. Only its rising and falling. Only its contours, hidden. Built upon. No bare earth. No land. Except at the edges of the campus. Except where stone gives way to stony soul. But we’re far away from its edges.

 

The campus that says, God is dead. The campus where every prophet must die.

There’s magic here. There’s magic practised on the campus.

 

This world of death. Built of dead matter. Of stones and bitumen and asphalt and cement. Of cast iron and steel and glass and aluminium. Of lime and brick.

The new machine. The body of a new spiritual power. Rising in revolt. Against the true sky. Against the true earth.

This is the house of demons. When will the jackals howl in these palaces? When will wild dogs roam in these mansions? When will God say, ‘She shall be peopled no more forever, nor inhabited for all generations’?

 

When will the Day Star come? The fire of destruction?

 

Is there one pocket of righteousness here? Is there one reason this campus should be saved?

 

Idolatry. The dominance of powers, dominations, spiritual princes. Falsehood. Refusal. Illusion.

We must not be conformed to this.

This is a battle for our souls. For philosophy.

For more than philosophy!

 

How can we oppose Organisational Management without becoming Organisational Managers ourselves? Without becoming evil? That’s the question.

 

The essence of Organisational Management is nothing organisational, Helmut says mysteriously. Or managerial.

 

The darkness of the world is getting darker. This really is the Abendland eh, Helmut.

 

In the dark times, will there be dark philosophy?

There will be philosophy about the dark times.

 

A time will come when we know what all this was for. And there will be no mysteries about why we live.

Is that tonight?

 

We have to pass through an existential Great Death.

Do we?

 

*This world is over – over. This world is finished. Why can’t anyone see that? This world has run out of world.

 

A posthumous life: that’s what this is. We aren’t alive. This isn’t life.

We have to hate and we have to despair. We have to live the horror. Keep our minds on the worst.

 

Don’t let them cheer us up. Don’t let them bring us on side. Don’t smile! Don’t laugh with them. Don’t share their good cheer. Make sure!

 

They want to take our despair from us. They want to free us from our despair. We need to hold onto it.

They don’t want us to hate. But we have to hate!

 

Despair is an invitation, postgraduates. A calling. Even the highest calling. It says: Turn your eyes from all this. Turn your attention from all this. Awaken yourself from all this. You are not part of the demonic realm.

 

They’ll want to free you from your despair, postgraduates. But your despair is the despair of philosophy, postgraduates! It belongs to philosophy! It’s what enables philosophy!

Hope … is not for you, postgraduates. And especially sham hope … Organisational Management hope.

Your lives … will not be long. Your days will probably be painful. But they will at least be lives of integrity, so long as you’re not seduced by the Organisational Management campus.

This is what philosophy needed: to be lost, so it can find itself again. And we’re the ones who are going to find it.

Fuck off.

 

Philosophy, in exile. Philosophy, in hiding. Philosophy, disappeared inside us. And theology – even more hidden. Even more exiled.

Philosophy – European philosophy – hunted. On the run. Living under a false name – a organisational management name.

 

Philosophy, only able to exist under cover. Under an assumed name. In disguise. Philosophy, only able to be crypto philosophy. Speaking its truth by telling lies – organisational management lies.

Do the angels approve of us drinking? Do they drink, too? Drunken angels … imagine that.

Angels can’t be drunk. In fact, angels can’t even drink. They can’t feel these bodily things. They don’t have bodies. Same as demons.

Demons are always looking to inhabit bodies, right? They’re always waiting for someone to invite them in, like in the Exorcist.

Sure – possession.

Can there be good possessions? Can an angel possess you?

I don’t know.

I’d like to be possessed by an angel. And do only good things. I’d like to be the instrument of something very good.

 

Angels are invisible to everyone.

Except children.

Sure, children see them.

And idiots, probably. Have you ever seen an angel, Driss?

No.

So maybe you’re not an idiot.

 

Look at us, like children. Drunken children. We want to believe like children. But we’re not children. We’re old. And corrupted.

 

You can see the angels when you drink. And God, and the Most fucking high. And you see the absence of God when you’re sober. And the Most fucking Low.

 

Orders of anti-angels. Dark angels. What’s the collective noun?

Hatreds of anti-angels. Horrors of anti-angels. Despairs of anti-angels. Screams of anti-angels. Ghouls …

Which chapter of Revelations are we in, on the Organisational Management campus?

 

I saw Satan fall like lightning.

Where – where did he fall?

Into the Organisational Management campus.

What could Satan want with the Organisational Management campus?

A new base of operations.

 

We’re lost in the coils of evil. Lost in the coiling, the writhing. Lost in the agitation of sin. Lost in the deepening of the Fall.

 

It’s a question of descent. We have to descend to find it. We have to sink.

To find what?

The depths of evil.

 

We should pray, or something.

Do you believe in God now?

I do here – on this campus. It’s so deeply, profoundly evil, there must be something good. It’s so wrong, there must be something right.

Is that your reasoning?

It’s … dialectical. Evil makes us see. Evil points a way. Out of this pseudo-world. This entirely captured world. Satan is real, Satan is everywhere. Which means God must be real somewhere else.

Maybe they want us turning away from the world. They want us without faith in anything around us. We’re easier to control us in that way.

Not if we believe in something else.

Something impossibly remote, impossibly distant. That won’t have any effect on anything round here.

At least we can talk about how much we hate it, this world – that’s something, isn’t it? At least it allows us that.

It likes it. It likes to mock us by indulging it. By letting us say whatever we like. And then showing total indifference. Showing that resistance is futile and laughable and stupid.

And that’s it’s totally accounted for – that’s the thing. That it’s expected – that it’s all calculated. That it’s all organised and fucking managed.

The great futility: that’s what we’re supposed to be reminded of. Our futility. And everything does remind us of that. All their smiles. Their welcomes. All the nice things they tell us are just to remind us of our total impotence. That this is how it is and how it will be, now and forever.

 

We’re exactly where they want us. We’re doing exactly what we’re supposed to. We’re fulfilling our role – our non-role. We’re deepening our irrelevancy.

We haven’t even been arrested. Haven’t even been DEW’d.

We raise no red flags. There’s no warrant out for our arrest. We appear on no wanted posters. There’s no bounty on our heads.

We’re a type, and they know our type. They know what to do with us. What box we fit in.

They’ve got us where they want us. They’ve parked us here. We’re nothing to fear.

No need for any special attention to be paid to us. We’re not worth the effort to assassinate.

They know our inputs and our outputs. We’re predictable. Mappable. Even obvious.

 

Only if they want us to be the resistance. And they probably do. They probably brought us here to have a resistance. To enjoy having a resistance. It was a kind of gift to themselves: a resistance. To see what we’d do. Whether we might surprise them. So vive le resistance, right?

This is the Organisational Management world now. We’ll never leave this campus, even if we leave this campus. Everything that will happen will happen here. Wherever we live, we’ll be living here.

 

After the cull: that’s what’s Organisational Management’s planning for. That’s when it’ll come into its own. When the population’s cut down to size. When the survivors will be living in campuses like this. Only they won’t be called campuses then.

 

We should hang ourselves right now! From one of these lampposts.

Is suicide allowed? There are probably suicide prevention drones to talk us out of it. They’ll spray anti-depression gas.

Or just let us die. They don’t need people like us. Everything’s ready for the great cull, right? Everyone and everything perfectly controlled. No one will even protest … They’ll practically volunteer for the euthanasia pods …

 

They’ll cull nine-tenths of humanity. More, maybe. And bring the survivors, those who have been selected for obedience, to the Organisational Management campus. Just enough of us to serve their needs. As will be useful in the coming technocracy.

This whole timeline is suffering. It’s howling out. It knows that it shouldn’t exist and that we shouldn’t exist – not like this.

This whole universe knows that it should not be. The sky. The stars – they know it. The earth underneath all this knows it too.

It’s groaning. I can hear it.  

 

This is a branched-off universe. A split-off universe.

The whole timeline cries, help me. Just as we cry, help me. This whole reality wants to be put out of its misery. And so do we: to be put out of this misery. So that this universe can just be shut down.

 

We don’t want to be sober in this terrible world. We don’t want to be undrunk in this desecrated world …

Only drunk can we muster up the hatred of this timeline. Only drunk can we summon up the love for the real one …