Fragments from books that don’t exist: The False Flag Operator’s Manual


On that crisp spring morning the last thing I wanted to think about was failure, but it was my job to analyze results and interpret the data, whatever it was. In this case the outcome was clear. Small minds, narrow minds, puny minds had been victorious and were now lording it over everyone else in as loud a voice as they could make it. I could only hope they’d run out of breath, or somehow or other completely fall apart in an instant, and we could all go back to life the way it was before their grubby revolution. There was a slim chance, however unlikely. I found myself wishing I could conjure up scandal like a genie out of a bottle, but of course I did not have that power, or any power. All I could do was remember that bad things come and go, and we’re all in this enormously complex and infinite project together, and to focus on the little things was necessarily to ignore the big ones. So I looked out the window, determined to enjoy that crisp spring morning if it killed me.

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