In his new office, his desk up against the wall and a computer that looks like it's from 80s Russia on his desk, W. has discovered absolute despair. He's been taken away from his window. No longer can he see the rain falling. No longer the Westerlies that batter themselves against his city.
What's to become of him? What's to become of us, because it's no different with me, he says. – 'Of what does your life consist, essentially? Where is it taking you?', W. asks. 'Where do you think it's all going?' A pause. 'Nowhere!', says W. with great vehemence. 'You're going nowhere!'
Of course, I have my constant nightmares of unemployment to spur me on, W. says. I have the job pages I read and my ridiculous fantasies about entering management or beginning a new career. They keep me going, W. says. They give me the illusion of choice, when in fact I have no choice at all.
I'm a hamster on a wheel, W. says. A fat, disgusting hamster with some kind of skin disease and foam around its mouth.
Lars Iyer's Blog 