Work in Progress

How do they cope in Sweden? With, like, no light?

They go all hygge.

That’s Denmark.

They go all coffee and cake.

That’s Norway.

So what do they do in Sweden?

Kill themselves.

That’s Finland. Very high suicide rate in Finland.

I think they drink.

Oh well they all drink in Scandinavia. They either drink themselves to death or suicide.

Fucking A.

I’m sure you should be in Berlin, or something, That’s where you belong. In some really complicated masochist relationship. With someone even more tortured than you are.

These are the times of the great reveal. When we finally understand what’s going on.

Like what?

Like that it is and always a complete shithole. That’s the best thing about the end times: we can what a shithole it always was.

*I’d like to take something world-annihilating. That’s the only drug I want. The, like, apocalypse drug. Is there a world-annihilating drug? Is there something that would really blow things up? Blow up my fucking MIND? Turn it fucking OFF?

I want to take something that lets me reach a mineral condition. I want to be a fucking rock. Nothing in my brain, and no brain, and no thinking, and no life, and never having lived at all. That’s what I want.

I feel outside of my own life. I feel outside of life. I feel shocked that anyone can actually see me. I feel numb. I feel detached.

 

If I was a chemist, I’d try and synthesise new drugs. That gave me new feelings.

What kinds of feelings?

Something other than doom.

We’re a new generation of fuck ups. We’re fucked up in a new way. We’re differently fucked up. We’re uniquely fucked up.

Generation Doom: is that who we are? We’re so fucked up. They sank us in debt. They locked us up. They muzzled us. They injected us with poison. What haven’t they done to us?

We’ve left everyone behind. And everything, pretty much. The whole fucking world. In some mad philosophical … spiralling. That’s left us all alone.

Except for each other.

Sure, except for each other.

 

What hope is there for us?

For us?

For people like us.

There is no hope for people like us. There’s infinite hope, sure – but not for the likes of us.

I’d much rather be a martyr than a suicide. More glamorous.

But who would know that you’re dying for a cause? I mean, it’s not as if you could infer it from your suicide: that you were dying for some greater thing. You’d have to leave some manifesto. Or tell someone.

Maybe you could explain. Deliver some speech ay my funeral, claiming me as a martyr. That could be your role.

A martyr to what? For what great cause?

You could say I died for the world. For the true world.

That you died to save the world?

I died to save myself from the world.

That’s not a martyrdom though, is it?

Could you ever go our with anyone not into universal doom? Who didn’t take it seriously? I couldn’t.

Sure.

I mean, I couldn’t go out with anyone who didn’t feel they were falling. Who weren’t desperate in some fundamental sense …

The sickness of evil. The greatness of evil. The evil of fucking evil. That’s what’s made us into the twisted fucks we are. Half self-loathing, half loathing everything. And full of some twisted messianic desire that things turn out right. And knowing that that can’t happen – not in this world. And wanting the apocalypse for just that reason.

Isn’t it sad, young people talking like this?

We’re not so young.