What’s wrong with us? How did self-loathing become a form of enjoyment? Like scorpions stinging themselves.
Nothing hates itself like a human being. We’re the uniquely fucked up species, right?
That’s what comes of having a big brain. Used for torturing itself. And why shouldn’t it? We’re so profoundly fucked up. So fucking deeply. And the smarter you are, the more fucked up you are.
Why can’t we just die? Why isn’t it just time to die? Why can’t the end just come? Why can’t it be here? I don’t want to say anything else. I don’t want to have to.
Why can’t the universe just admit that the game is up. Why can’t anyone but us see it?
Why can’t it just stop now? Isn’t this the perfect moment for it to stop? I wish I could click my fingers and destroy it all, like Thanos. What about all the poor people you’d kill.
Fuck the poor people I’d kill.
Right now. Right – now. [Clicking her fingers.] It’s not ending.
The enemy’s dead – don’t forget that. Already dead.
So why’s the enemy, like, attacking us from every direction?
The enemy is death – all the forces of the dead. That are alive in their death. The enemy is death come alive. All the negative forces come alive.
We can’t defeat death, can we?
We need death to finally die.
We need to finally die.
*One day, death will die by itself. One day, the enemy won’t be there anymore. Death will be dead again. And this world … will be liberated.
The good people will win. We’re the good people. And goodness will win. We know what that is, even if we think we don’t.
No more fear. We won’t live in fear, not anymore.
So how will we live?
In love, of course. We’ll live in love. And in faith. And in hope.
There’s only the disaster. The only thing to think about: disaster. The only thing to read about: the disaster. The only position for us: a disastrous position.
This is the age of the endless end and the endless endless end. This is the time of perpetual emergency.
Don’t think you can escape. The disaster actually means the impossibility of escape.
I do not accept this world. I do not accept … all this stuff. All the shit. I do not accept these words. I do not accept this language.
So what language are you going to use?
This is not my world. I am not who I am. This is not me. These are not my words.
We’re going to die in prison.
We’re not. Don’t be so self-important.
What’s so important about us that they would want to lock us up? Do you think we’ll be some kind of threat?
We’re not a threat. We’re easily managed, easily contained. We’re not devious criminal masterminds. We’re not key strategists in the resistance.
We’re educators. We shape young minds.
Do we fuck. The students don’t listen to us.
They have us programmed. We’ve been figured out. Our kind. Because we are a kind. There are loads of people like us. They’re, like, experts on our kind. And they know exactly how to play us. They, like, understand our incentives. Our drivers. They know how to press our buttons. We’re predictable. We run on rails. And they built the fucking rails.
The book is dead – discuss. We’re dead – discuss. The university’s dead – discuss.
In point of fact … Death is dead. Nothing’s allowed to finally die. Everything just persists in death. Until the end. Except there is no end.
I need to cut all the positive people from my life. There’s too much positivity. I’m sick of optimism. I want to know more melancholic people. More depressed ones. I want to know people who are attuned to the essential sadness of the world.
You really only know people you share a temperament with.
I think we need some malevolence. I think it would bring out the best in us.
We should advertise. Wanted: maniac.
We’re on the same team.
What team is that?
Team Nihilism. Team Gnosticism. Team Gnosis. Team Revelation of Nothingness.
All these K-pop stars killing themselves. It's amazing. It's bothersome. Why are K-pop stars killing themselves, all of a sudden?
A poised drunkenness. The perfect balance of drunkenness. A lucid drunkenness, like lucid dreaming. Which we can steer where we want. Which we can direct. Orientate in the right direction.
Lubricated.
All this drinking is preparatory. We’re preparing a way out.
Happy drunks. Everyone drinking, and involved each other’s drinking. Everyone up. Everyone happy. And supportive of each other’s drinking. Nurturing each other’s drinking.
Drink is the question. Drink is the answer. Both at once.
Drink is the answer, probably. Or is it the question?
Stop being so clever. I despise clever.
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.
All the last free outposts of thought, captured. All the subject areas of the humanities being taken over, one by one.
They have a thirst for disaster, our students. They’re tireless. It’s helped them make sense of what’s been happening. Of their lives, plagued with disaster.
They want to understand themselves, in the midst of it all. What they might be able to do. How they might be able to live.
Escape! we always tell them. Leave this benighted country! This doomed continent!
It’s too late for us, we say. We’re too set in our ways. We’re too old! But you’re young. Get out there! Go! Before it’s too late. Before they ban travelling, or whatever. Before they shut down the world. Become unknown, unknowable. Flee.
Find somewhere to take your last stand. Set up a homestead. Arm yourself. Keep chickens. Grow stuff. Store stuff. See if you can sit the catastrophe out.
Costa Rica! we tell them. Head there! There’s no 5G! No electromagnetic pollution!
The students before us.
Personal problems – no doubt they have those. Personal crises – God knows this world is difficult enough! It’s a war on the young – we all know that. They want to destroy the young – psychologically. And by every other means.
We’re here to reverse the damage. To restore to life. To lead all the way back to the Ursprung. To give them back their youth …
Soon, the students will be back. Soon, they’ll push open our lavender doors. Tread our lilac-on-red-wine carpets. Their voices with fill the lilac corridors.
Students! Our life! Our chance! Our future! Who make us conduits! Rivers! Who make us seem to flow with knowledge!
Student-innocents, who’ve come from everywhere, from all over the country. God knows, they’ve even come from overseas!
Hope! They bring hope! And let them bring an Indian summer when they arrive for the autumn term! Let them bring an unseasonably warm and summery September!
What must they think when, as we teach, in the middle of our lectures, we go off on some mournful tangent, when we lament the state of things to come …. When we let slip the word, omnicide …. Or the word diabolism …. When we simply look at them mournfully, as if to say, If only you knew what we know … If only you could see …
Work in Progress 