Conversation with W. Why has everything become so absurd?, I ask him. Why has it all come apart just at the moment when we might have got somewhere? But W. reminds me of what we both know: that any success we've had is premised upon exactly that absurdity.
We're like captains of the Titanic, we tell each other. W.'s already steered his ship into the iceberg. It's wrecked – all hands lost. W. remains on the bridge, the last man standing, but there's not long left. It'll be your turn next, says W. How long do you think you'll last?
The iceberg's looming, I tell W. I'm mesmerised by it. So was he, says W. He knew it was coming and that it could only come. He knew that any success he had had was premised upon this greater and pre-ordained failure. He's dignified in defeat. Not like you, he says, gnashing your teeth and wailing from the rooftops.
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