Grind

Let us leave this place, he says, come, let us retreat. To think no more of worthwhile things. Let us sell up and sell out, we shall start another life, to become consumers and refusers, founts of wastage, parasitic, comatose blights on the earth and alchemists of new to old, good to bad. I shall get a job concerned solely with the packaging and repackaging of frozen poultry goods. You can work in a flourescently lit office, beneath polystyrene panels and a machine that chugs out black liquid into plastic cups. We shall have fights over the cutlery, live for the weekend and get drunk at the Christmas party. For the world is beyond us and we must have concern for it no longer.