Don't make me send in Rover
"What do you want?", the University asks of me.
"Information", I snarl in reply
The question betrays its sense of powerlessness, its inherant and ultimate weakness.While it mans the thin rail of bravado with finesse, the University knows it is ultimately doomed. Its way passing, an anachronism, an excersise in tired nostalgic chivilry.
"Whose side are you on?"
"That would be telling. "We want Information"
There is no escape, no way back. The University remains defiant and silent; nontheless. Secure for the moment. Confident in its own brooding incorporation, the still remaining ability to stand on its own feet and flex its own fingers. To make a fist and shake it at the world.
"Well, you won't get it."
Information the university certainly has. It bursts with, can hardly contain it. but it won't tell me. On principle it won't. There is nothing it feels I need to know. My motavations strike it as cryptic and confused - all together unsatisfactory. I cannot tell it the name of the factory I would sate.
"By hook, or by crook - I will."
The University smiles. A tight inward smile from the defendants box. A gallows smile. I ask for teaching, but cannot commit to the right, to the just, to get it. I have revealed completely that I do not know what I want, and in a very real sense cannot be told anything. I do not have means for telling what, if anything, I learn describes. For refracting it back on my acculmlated experience to make it knowldge. What experiance can I truly have - what opinions could I have formed from what has befallen me, or those around me. None. I am an empty vessel, and it is because of the holes.
The University cannot know this. It can only guess, and it does not care to. I have let it know one additional thing; I am number two. What does it care that I term it number six? I have let it know that I rank behind another, am not number one, and therefore am just another number. If I insist or become bothersome it will think of a suitable story to tell me. A rabbit I will chase down a path away.
The university turns, throws a curt nod over its shoulder, a sarcastic riposte of separation and departs
10:36:56 PM  ;
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