Primordial: An Abstraction

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They revoke my Ph.D.

I had been practicing a questionable mode of pedagogy. I had been writing a toxic strain of theory.

Now I have to return the University so that I can get my degree back and salvage my identity.

Primordial.

Somebody attacks me at the front gate.

He reminds me of my dissertation advisor.

He is old and gray and sallow. And undeniably strong.

His bones converge into sharp angles and he looks more like an insect than an academic.

Upended on the grass, he hurls a large brick at my car and I swerve out of the way. He hurls another brick and I dodge it. He hurls one more brick and it lands on my windshield, splintering the glass like a broken equation.

I drive onto the grass and run over the old man.

I go to the Bursar’s office to report the incident.

Nobody’s in the office.

I leave a detailed note on the receptionist’s desk and go to the Department.

Everything looks the same.

Somebody tells me what I have to do to reclaim my Ph.D. and they assign me a dormitory and a room and eighteen roommates.

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