“But perhaps that’s what it means: the idea can only burn for those who cannot see it, who have already gone under. It’s on the other side of the mirror, although all they can see are their own stupid faces.
And what do we see, in the reflective surface of the train windows? Whose faces are behind the glass? —‘My God, look at us’, says W. ‘Look at what we’ve become’.”
— Lars Iyer, Spurious
Alone with the apocalypse! The only thing for it is to drink. Luckily we have a bottle of Plymouth Gin in our bag. We are sober men, terribly sober, we agree. It’s only those who are the most sober of all who have to drink, and then to the point where they can no longer pronounce the word ‘apocalypse’. It’s only then, drunk as lords, that they will know God’s plan, which they will immediately forget.
We must read if we want to live, W. says. We may have forgotten how to live, but they – the authors of the books on our bookshelves – have not.
Here was a new generation… a new generation dedicated more than the last to the fear of poverty and the worship of success; grown up to find all gods dead, all wars fought, all faiths to man shaken.
