The Last Days of New Paris

by China Miéville

‘We refuse to flee poetry for reality,’ ” he said. “ ‘But we refuse to flee reality for poetry.’

‘Those who are asleep,’ ” Thibaut had read, “ ‘are workers and collaborators in what goes on in the universe.’

So, hate me as much as you want, and you and Trotsky and your fucking lost Pope Breton and whoever else can bring your worst to bear to bring the whole of capitalist imperialism or whatever crashing down when this is over. But if Fall Rot happens, it’ll be over for both of us.”