Furthermore, I don't consider unusual this station of nihilism where I'm lingering as in a waiting room, half bored, half waiting for an alarm bell. People then turn into passengers, and we're surprised at the waiter still taking an order down. Given the disquieting mutation of our world, almost everyone should know the atmosphere in which we start doubting about reason. It may just be a spectral dream.

Ernst Jünger (what a sad skunk!), 1982.

Conclusions are already clear in the very development of our argument, always suggested by the text and by its gaps. There is no epilogue which can't be read in the titles: Guy Debord is really dead, nunc est bibendum! On "Il Manifesto", Sunday 4th of December 1994, Enrico Ghezzi (a man of some merit) wrote: "The news about Guy Debord's death seemed to me a deceit, une leurre. A sublime fraud, like the one many suspected behind Moana Pozzi's death. To be able to détourner his very death. To make it even more unreal than it already is, challenging it on its own mediatic grave. [...] To give an end to his own length, not to his time. To give himself an end..." I had a very different impression: The Bore did no longer have choice, he had chosen more than three decades earlier, getting carefully ready for the moment when his time would have finished, deboredom would have come along, and he would be left with nothing but his own length to give an end to, sooner or later.

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