Work in Progress

Why not just kill us? Why do they need so many of us? Why are they letting us live at all? That’s the mystery, right? What do they get from us? I don’t understand it. Haven’t they got the stomach to just murder us?

Maybe they like watching us. Like an ant colony. Like spider-monkeys. Maybe we’re entertaining.

 

We’re, like, a useless population. Allowed to live. Allowed to go on. Teaching useless subjects, uselessly.

Yeah, because they want to experiment on us. To do live gene editing on us, or whatever. To transform us using drone swarms. To do all their nanobollocks.

 

I don’t get what’s in it for them to let us live.

Maybe they can’t stomach mass murder.

I don’t believe it. What stayed their hand?

There’s a plan, only we don’t know it. Maybe it's a slow cull.

This is the last battle. This department is like the Nebuchadnezzar in the Matrix. The last true place. We’re red pilled – very red pilled. We’re the last best hope of humanity.

So who’s Neo? Who’s the One?

Cicero was Morpheus, right?

But Cicero fucked off …

 

The battle’s deep. The frontier runs through the university. Through our School! Through Philosophy! Through us, as philosophers! Through our souls!

 

It’s neuroweaponry. They’re after our brains. Our fontal cortices. They want us stupid – more stupid. They’re attacking the brain with their hydrogels. They busting through the blood brain barrier.

 

Organisation Management is a front. Organisation Management is run by MI6 or something. Or DARPA. Where did it come from, so suddenly? Where did it spring up from? Suspicious, isn’t it, the rise of Organisation Management? The way it’s swallowing up the older disciplines.

The plan: to move the old discipline into the Schools of the new ones. And then hollow out the old disciplines. Hollow out the humanities. That’s how they’ll do it. They know students want to study the Arts. So they’ll hollow out the Arts. They’ll infiltrate the Arts. It’s already happening. And philosophy itself. Philosophers! Students will think they’re studying philosophy, but really … in fact … They’ll think they’re studying the wisdom of the great thinkers, but actually …

 

The sky is where they attack you from. The sky, full of low-flying satellites. Full of direct energy weapon platforms.

The sky is a giant attack vector, that’s all. That’s where the attacks will come from. Nowhere’s safe. Nothing’s safe.

 

The Go command has been given. It’s operational.

 

Acoustics, microwaves, radio frequencies. Beams of light. Fucking unsurvivable …

 

Neuroweapons – they want to take out our brains. They don’t want us to have brains. Bioweapons. Hydrogels in the brain.

It’s attack … on every frontier.

 

Directed evolution – that’s what it’s all about. It’s soft robotics. To hybridise us. To give us new synthetic bodies …

 

They’re GM-ing everything. Including us. It’s the fucking mark of the Beast.

 

The great poisoning, all around us. Poisoned food. Poisoned water. Poisoned air. Poisoned thought.

Our hope: that the other sky will show through. That others will see it too, and realise. That they’ll awaken, like us. That they, too won’t be fooled.

Our hope: that we wouldn’t be alone with this knowledge. That we could hold what was shown between us, this non-knowing, this nothingness. And that it wouldn’t be nihilism, but the antidote to nihilism. And that it would cure us of nihilism. And that we’d be lifted from nihilism.

Our hope: that others would see through it all, too. That others wouldn’t be fooled. That we’d share the secret. That we know what was hidden. And that we’d laugh at it all: the fiction of the world. The lies of the world.

Why were we the only ones who know what’s going on? Who have any idea of what’s happening? Why are we the exceptions? Why are we the ones who see through things? What is it about us? What’s so special about us, we who always thought we were unspecial?

Because we knew. We had instincts. We were Certain – as no one around us was. We saw through it – as no one else did. We had the Gift. Almost clairvoyant. We knew something was up, that something was wrong. That something new was heaving into view.

A change of reality. A new normal. That must have been long in the making. Decades long. Hundreds of years long. That must have been the product of vast plans. Agendas. This was to be the culmination of something, that was clear. This was to lead somewhere.

They were showing their hand – but only to those of us who could see. Who were aware. Who saw, like us. Who knew, like us. Who weren’t fooled.

 

Our conspiracy theories. Is that what they were? Our shared madness. Our sense of vast forces. Of vast evil. Of agendas, gathering. Of great darkness. And great light. Because didn’t we sense that, too: a kind of light. That might save us. Might lift us up.

Didn’t we feel the grace of God? Didn’t we know that God was close? That it could only be him. Wasn’t God shown too, as well as the evil? Wasn’t God shown because of the evil?

 

What was it about us? Won’t we always be asking that question: What was it about us? Why did it fall to us? Why were we deserving? Why did we feel it? Intuit it? Who gave us the powers of discernment?

It turned us from the world. Turned us in upon ourselves. Turned us to one another. As we became the only ones we could talk to.

It changed us. We weren’t the same. There was a new Seriousness. Something not to joke about. That we saw in each other.

We were comrades. We were the undeceived. We talked in corners. In hushed tones. We knew there were enemies everywhere. We knew we might be denounced – reported. To the authorities. To the new secret police.

We knew there were those for whom we were the enemies within. The enemies next door.

 

Some of us knew. It was given to us to know. Some of us sensed it. It was give to us to sense.

Our ultimate vindication Our justification. We were not wrong. We did not live in the wrong.

And the rest: who are they becoming? Are they still human anymore? Hadn’t they given up their humanity? Transformed into something else – but what? Gene-edited into a new form of life? Into homo borg genesis?

 

We’re the last human beings. Among the last. But they’re working on us. They’ll find us. They’ll run us down. They’re only looking for an excuse. Their algorithms have found us. Are watching us. They have us on their lists.

For how long will we be allowed to live? How will they take us out? What’ll they do to us? Will we be found dead in our beds? Will we be found hung from some roof-beam? Will we be victims of some traffic accident? Will we slit out wrists whilst out on a countryside walk, David Kelly style? Will it be some personalised directed energy weapon beam? Some individual burst of 5G malevolence?

They’re building prison camps. FEMA camps. Concentration camps. For the likes of us! To lock us up! They can’t let us just roam through the world. Spreading the word. Spreading what they’d call lies. What they’d called misinformation.

 

Why has it fallen to us? And what do we do with what has fallen with us?

Are we the only ones who’ve noticed it? I mean, why us? What’s special about us?

It’s because we have so little stake in the world as it us. It’s because we don’t really care about its … perpetuation.

We’re already dead, that’s what I think. We’ve already died to the world. We’re already immune. We’ve seen through all things. We saw the void, right? The void showed itself to us. The non-truth of the world: that’s what we saw. The great Nothing. The unreality of everything. Which meant we could see through it: the great lie.

 

It’s what allows us to breathe. It’s what makes us smile. At all the fakery. At the latest vast stupidity. That all these idiots take to be real.

I mean, it’s actually funny to see what the idiots are fooled by now. To see what’s passing itself off as reality now. Or it would be, if the maniacs weren’t actually trying to kill us off.

 

This isn’t our world … These aren’t our lies. We don’t need them to be true, like everyone else. We don’t need this all to be real. Which is why we can laugh at those who do. We’re freer than them. Lighter. We’re not addicted to the seriousness of this world …

I’m crying, but I don’t know why. Are these my tears? There’s an immense sadness, but it’s not mine – it’s not ours. It’s the sadness of the universe – the whole universe.

Everything is weeping. Everything cries in our tears and with or tears. We’re to express the sorrow of the universe. The sorrow that we’re sorrowful. That we’ve known pain. That we’re lost children, because that’s what we are, isn’t it?

 

I think if I could begin to speak, find the right words, I’d never stop.

 

A time will come … a time will come for us. Peace will come.

Will it?

A great calm, that sweeps everything away.

Will that be the end, the end of time?

I think it will.

 

It’s at an end, the world. It’s found its peace, the world. And we’ve found our peace, in the peace of the end of the world. Which is the peace of God. Which is God’s peace.

 

I think all things will find their peace. I think all things will lie down, in the great calm. In the calm of God. And that’s what God is: calm.

 

That the end has come because it is right. That the world has ended because it is fitting. Because God has decreed it thus. Because God has made it happen so. And we’ve got nothing to be do but Accept. But to bow our heads.

We don’t have to choose anything, decide anything. It’s at an end, the world. It’s found its peace, the world. And we’ve found our peace, in the peace of the world. Which is the peace of God, God’s peace. Which is God’s end, God’s repose.

 

The end: isn’t that what we’ve been waiting for, all along?

All the drama have played out. Everything that was to happen has happened.

We’ve lived enough. We’ve lived out our lives, our petty lives.

 

Our lives, in the hand of God. Our lives, held in the hand of God. Their importance. Their unimportance. The things of our lives. Important in their unimportance.

 

Are we going to wake up now? Are we going to wake into another life? Are we going to open our eyes in another world? Will we live and breathe in another world? In God’s world?

Will we be close to God, now? Will we be as close to God as God’s angels are. Will we be among the angels, God’s angels, by the side of God?

Don’t you think the world’s so beautiful that we should just die? That we should just fall down and die. Don’t you ever feel that? That it’s so unbearable, just to live? That it’s so impossible, just to live? Just to fucking go on?

Don’t you feel that we just sully time? That we shouldn’t just continue to exist? That our lives are … careless? That we just … crash into things? Destroy things? Destroy the whole fucking world?

 

Couldn’t we just kill ourselves? Isn’t that the most appropriate thing to do? Why do we have to go on and on? This is it. It’s over – now. That’s what I want to say. Right now. Today. Right now …

 

I want to fall upwards, into the sky. And burn up. Fall faster and faster.

 

So what are we supposed to do – just live? How do you live, anyway?

Would you even miss me if we never saw one another again? Would I miss you? I don’t know.

 

Is this, like, a success or a failure? On whose terms? On what terms? What has this been about?

 

It doesn’t have to succeed to succeed. It doesn’t have to last to last.

 

So what was it? It wasn’t anything. What was it for? It was for nothing. And I like that thought: that it was for nothing.

What should it have to be?

What’s anything, anyway? What’s it for? All of it? What are we doing? What have we been doing? What does it add up to?

 

Why should anything add up to anything? Just let it go. Just let it vaporise, vanish. Just let it go vague. And one day you’ll remember it, maybe. One day, it may come to you, or not. You may remember this, or that.

 

There’s no need to remember any of this. No need to keep it. We should just … release it all into forgetting. What was there to remember, anyway? What’s going to be left of it? Where’s it all going to go?

Into the memory of God.

Is that true? Does God remember things? Or does he simply forget? Isn’t God forgetting – the power of forgetting. God will forget everything for us. Will release it into forgetting. Just as we should be released into forgetting.

 

So we’ll release it into the forgetting of God. God will forget it all for us.

Release it unto God. Let it be peaceful in God. Let it be calm in God.

 

Would you miss me? I’d miss me – this me. I’d miss what I’d become.

 

I’m tired of atheists. I used to be an atheist.

An atheist is a very boring thing to be. The most boring people are atheists.

What do you believe in?

I don’t know anymore. I don’t know anything anymore.

 

I’ve forgotten everything but God. God remembers me now. I’ve forgotten everything except God’s memory of me. See, I’m profound, philosopher. Or God’s profound in me.

I speak like I’m stoned. But I’m not even stoned. Is that what it means to do philosophy?

Fuck, I’m not even drunk. I’m not even anything. I’m not even alive. I’m not even dead. I’m not even anything. I’m not even nothing. I’m not even not even. Fuck.

 

I’m changing into an unknown person. I don’t recognise myself in the mirror.

 

I don’t know how to answer the simplest question. I’m stoned without being stoned. Drunk without being drunk.

Like being in that space of desire, where romantic things may or may not be happen, and just hovering there, forever.

That’s what I want. When nothing’s happened yet. When something might happen … When things might begin …

And it’s so still, and calm. And everything’s perfect. Isn’t that the best moment?

 

It’s all about a mood, right? And not spoiling the mood. The romantic mood. Or rather, the on-the-brink-of-romance mood. When things might or might not happen.

 

This is military grade flirtation. I’m defenceless. I’m won over.

 

Do you believe in God, philosopher? I think I do, tonight. This night. I think you’re going to lead me to God.

What does that mean? I think you’re the person I’m going to talk about God with. That’s what’s you’re about for me.

 

Everything’s so still. And calm. We’re in the calm eye of the hurricane. The city’s hurricane. It’s all turning around us.

What is?

Everything. The whole city. Wheeling around us. Like we’re the centre of the galaxy, and the galaxy’s arms are just turning around us.

We’re at the heart of all things. In the secret place at the heart of everything. Where God would be, if there was a God.

 

And God’s just this wave of calm, right? God’s this wave of calm saying, everything’s going to be alright. Is everything going to be alright, philosopher? For who? For us, maybe? For the, like, universe? For everything?

 

And isn’t that the most perfect moment of it: when you don’t know what’s going to happen? When the whole romantic thing hasn’t, like, locked in? When things aren’t fixed … When it isn’t like a programme you’re going to follow. When it’s, like, possible and impossible at the same time.

 

When we’re just a thought in the mind of God …  Where the calmness is and we’re not. Where nothing is and we’re not. Where there’s just silence, and it’s not even our silence. A silence that doesn’t belong to us, or belong to anyone.

Don’t they understand that none of this is important? Can’t they see through the world? Why do they play within the rules? Why do they believe in the Matrix? Why can’t they see through it all?

Have they ever hated anything – will all their hearts? Hatred of the world: have they ever known that?

World-perpetuators. World-apologisers. They’re well-adjusted to the world. They fit into it: the world – this world.

They accept the principle of the world. They accept the fundamental order of the world. They accept the world as system. They even love it, the world as system.

They’re world-accepters, not world despisers. They don’t want to clear the world away. They don’t want to see it destroyed. The fact that the world isn’t intolerable to them is the ultimate indictment. The fact that they can bear it go on is what’s incredible.

The fact that they can put up with such things without immediately wanting to kill themselves is unfathomable. The fact that they don’t just want to wink out of existence should only awaken our incredulity.

The capacity for tolerance! Forbearance! The fact that they think it should go on! The fact that it isn’t totally invalidated for them, the whole world. That it should allow itself to exist. That there can be more of it, and yet more. The fact that the world, to them, hasn’t done enough.

The fact that it should go on perpetuating itself, go on existing as a fundamental crime. The fact that there’s always more world, and more after that. The fact that no open has put a stop to it.

The fact that the world hasn’t strangled itself, hasn’t thrown itself from the highest place. The fact that the world hasn’t suicided, hasn’t given up, hasn’t thrown in the towel. The fact that it allows itself to go on, that the world is the world, and will still be the world tomorrow.

The fact that they can simply live in the world, simply be in the world. The fact that they’re not allergic to the world.

The fact that they’re calm, even handed, even voiced. The fact that they’re measured. The fact that they’re not lost in despair. The fact that despair isn’t all that’s visible in their faces. The fact that they appear happy enough, content enough. The fact that they can go about their business. Do their contented thing. With others who are content! With others just like them! With non-despairers! With glad-handers! With happy campers!

The fact that they haven’t felt the imperative to hang themselves! The sirens’ song of suicide! The fact that they do not feel that things cannot go on! Not as they are! Not as they have been! The fact that the order of the world is tolerable to them. That it can and should last. That this is how things are and should be!

The fact that they see no need for a way out. The fact that they don’t want to press the ejector button. The fact that they don’t want to pull the emergency break. The fact that they haven’t yet hung themselves.