H. and I ask the police for directions. Where’s Morden Tower? we ask. They don’t know, but they’re helpful. We’re polite and they’re helpful. ‘We should hate them’, I said to H. a little later. It would help us if they were brutal, I said. But they’re considerate and pleasant, I said.
When the auditors came, it was the same, I said. They were pleasant and helpful people. They wanted to do a good job, to see justice was done. One of them was a fan of Will Oldham, he told me. He liked Will Oldham and Nine Inch Nails and he was an auditor. This wasn’t a contradiction, I said to H. He might have been anguished, but auditors can be anguished. They’re just like you and me, I said to H. No doubt one of us will have to audit a department soon enough, I said.
When they had the two minute’s silence for 9/11, I was in an induction meeting at the university where I worked, I said. I had worked there for years, I said, but they’d finally thrown me a bone: I had a half time post for a full year. I earned £9,000 and was ecstatic, I said. Well, the Vice Chancellor came to meet all us new staff, I said. When the silence began, we stood heads bowed. One woman couldn’t bear it and she went into the corridor to cry. The Vice Chancellor hugged her. She held her and hugged her. It was a beautiful scene, I said. How kind the Vice Chancellor was! I would have liked to have been hugged by the Vice Chancellor. To feel a Vice Chancellor’s arms around me, I said. How protected I would have felt! How soothed! How warm! But I would not have been close to the source of her power. Power would not have pressed me against its bosom.
They’re all very nice, I said to H., and that’s the trouble. If you went to see them with a legitmate complaint, they’d be sympathetic, I said. They’d sit you down and have their secretary bring you tea, I said. And they’d say: well, there’s little I can do. It’s the system, you see. It’s the way things are done.
In the end, they can imagine themselves in your place just as you can imagine themselves in theirs. They say: I would never have made it to this position in the current climate. You say: I would certainly have made it to their position if I was allowed to write then as much as I write now. Why, she only has 1 book to her name and I have 3, and while she has only 4 published articles, I have 12! On it goes. The point is that I would have never written 3 books except in the current climate. And she would have done the same as me in the current climate. It is the system that works; we are only its nodes.
Is it possible, then, to speak like the Greeks about fate? Is it fate that measures out what is to happen to us in this great system? Not even that, I said. For the network is curiously random. One day, you’re without a job, things look bleak, the next you have one. One day, your mediocre colleague finds a way to get a promotion. The next you find your contract ending and having to move to the other end of the country. Fate is not the word, I said. It is too grand, and besides it would still be linked to the genre of tragedy where human beings are still revealed in their glory as they batter themselves against their destiny.
No such glory for us, I said. There is no destiny, not for us. If you lose your job, you disappear, I said. No one notices. You are forgotten all at once. The only consistency you can maintain, the only stability, would be that of your life at home. The Vice Chancellor comes home to her grandchildren, the auditor to listen to Will Oldham in a dark room. Home is a place for recuperation. You can complain to your partner about the injustices of the day and prepare yourself to go back to work tomorrow. What if you have no partner? There are your parents, your relatives and your friends, I said. And then there are counselling services – a whole network of support, I said.
You can claim the worst victimisation, I said, and someone will believe you. Claim you’ve been abducted by UFOs and you’ll find a support group. There are support groups everywhere, I said. There is every kind of therapy. There is no grandeur or glory in your life, I said, but there are support groups. Everywhere there are victims of capital, but no one understands they are victims of capital. If you survive, you will have to return to work. If you go mad for a year or two, if you undergo treatment for cancer, soon you’ll have to be back at work. The daylight is everywhere and there’s no escape. Above your mad head or your bald head it’s the same.
The white, bland light is the same above the housing estate as above the industrial estate and there’s no escape. You disappeared for a year or two, but you will be back in the workplace. You were unemployed, you became a job seeker, you were on the sick, but you’ll be helped back to work, don’t worry, I said. What matters is that money be extracted from you. What matters is that you contribute, I said. The world is heading for collapse but you’ll be made to contribute right up to the last minute I said.
You can take maternity leave for a while, I said, but you’ll soon be back at work. You can give your child over to schools, which will open ten, twelve, fourteen hours a day. The new kids will be the new drones, I said. They’ll be capitalised from birth. Capital will stream through them. Capital will pour through their limbs and sinews. Every lesson they learn will be subordinated to capital. Every class they go to will be justified in terms of the broadening and deepening of their skill set. Every learning outcome will map onto the learning outcome of the university and the learning outcome of capitalism, I said. Every aim and objective will map onto the aims and objectives of the university and onto the aims and objectives of capitalism, I said.
But there are no learning outcomes in capitalism, I said, and there are no aims and objectives. Capitalism means nothing, I said, it aims only at its own increase, its not rational, there is no rationality of the market there is only the madness of the market as it permeates every part of our lives. There is a great roaring I said, as what you’d hear at the centre of the sun. A great senseless roaring and that is capital I said. There is a great roaring senselessness and nothing else.
It’s like my endless babbling at the weblog, I said. My endless babbling is simply the converse of the endless babbling of capitalism, I said. My inane babbling, senseless and relentless is the inanity of capitalism which desires only its own increase, I said. The inanity of what I write mirrors the inanity of capitalism, I said. Everything I write is stupid, I said, but so is capital. I am as stupid as capital, as prolix as capital, as senseless as capital, I said.
This is no time for sobriety I said. Capitalism is drunk with itself and why shouldn’t we be. That’s why everyone drinks so much I said. Academics drink and students drink. The Vice Chancellor drinks and the auditors drink. We’re all drinking all the time. Because this is an infinite audit culture, I said. Because I audit you and you audit me, I said. Because we all audit each other and we audit ourselves. Because we are made up of little homunculi who audit one another, I said. Because the Quality Assurance Agency are auditing our hearts, I said. Because we have a little Q.A.A. inside our hearts, I said. Because my heart is the heart of the Q.A.A. I said. Because I’m auditing myself and auditing everyone I said.
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