Organisational Management is asking to be extinguished. To be no more.
Organisational Management wants only one thing: its annihilation.
Organisational Management doesn’t know how to die – it’s like cancer.
I might change my name to Cancer. It feels right.
Mmm – good call.
They want our contemplation. They want our stupidity. They want our stupefaction. Our studiousness. They want our rest, our sleep. Our dreaming. They want to dream with our dreaming. To put it to work.
Am I a machine of Satan? Have I been crafted by the Imitator? Tell me, is there light in my face? In my eyes?
Am I a daughter of God? Is that who I am? Does my life rest in Him? Would you know, philosopher? Would you tell me?
It can’t be redeemed, any of this. It’s quite impossible. We can’t lift ourselves from this. Can’t resurrect ourselves. We can’t, like, open our coffins. We can’t unseal the tombs.
This is the hour of our stupidity. This is when our idiocy steps forward. Becomes – important. More important than anything.
Who we are. Our particular lives. Our histories. Our temperaments. Our … idiosyncrasies …
We who can be no other. Who are only what we have to be. Who stand, stupefied, in nothing other than our stupidity.
We like our continental philosophy making vast doomy pronouncements. About the change of epoch. About epochal shifts. About civilizational change. About the West in general. About the doom of the West! And our doom! Doom in general! Omni-doom!
We like our European philosophy to be pathos-rich. To be full of great, dark moods. Of Angst! Of dread! All that kinda stuff.
We like our European philosophy written in high style. Grandiose, if possible. Written as if it mattered. As if people were reading. As if there was a still a literary culture – which there still is, over there, in continental Europe. Written as if there were still people to read that kind of thing. Not, like secondary commentaries.
We like our European philosophy heady. High minded. Written for clever, clever people.
We like our continental thought to be about Great Things. About Time. And Space. And Politics. And the End of the World. And anything about the messiah is a bonus.
We like our European philosophies to be about vast, world-changing things. About events so vast …. They dwarf everything. About events so diffuse, you can barely tell that they’re happening. Events so subtle, yet so profound that only a European philosopher can tell that they’re going on.
Vast things. Enormous things. World-encompassing things. Things that break over the face of the world, like solar winds. Things through which the whole world turns. The whole earth …
This is our world: a world of death.
We’re even used to it – we’re used to the horror. We’re used to death. It’s our daily bread. We wake up into death and go to sleep in death. We go about our day in death. We don’t expect anything.
And nothing’s going to lift us out of this. There’s no hand extending down to pull us out of our sewer.
Is there anything we can hang ourselves from? These lampposts?
How would we climb up a lamp post?
How long does it take to drink yourself to death?
This wine’s too disgusting to let you drink yourself to death. You’d just throw it up. Spit it out.
We’re humiliating ourselves … snivelling. Praying. When we should be planning to blow it all up.
Shouting: We’re TERRORISTS, do you hear? Come and arrest us! We HATE you. THIS IS HATE SPEECH! HATE AGAINST YOU! YOU ORGANISATIONAL MANAGEMENT FUCKERS!
Throwing a bottle. Smashing it.
We want to BLOW YOU UP, FUCKERS! We want you DESROYED! You SATANISTS!
They’re listening in on us – or their algorithms are.
Come on – they have nothing to fear from us. They’re not listening.
We might be under surveillance, but what does it matter? They can’t be bothered. We’re no threat. We can say whatever we want. Isn’t that the worse thing: that they haven’t sent their flying monkeys to destroy us? That they’re just letting us live? That they don’t actually need secret police? We’ll inform on ourselves. We’ll make up new and better lies – better than their lies … More colourful … They might even like our lies …
Work in Progress 