The Sorting Room

Steve Aylett is undoubtedly the best of the Jeff Lint impersonators currently stalking the earth. Here's an extract from "Only an alligator", volume 1 of a series called "Accomplice". It describes the misery of a group of individuals (not all human) who work in a basement facility called the sorting room. Chew on this, Max Weber:

It just kept coming, every day. Miscellaneous objects wrapped in paper and card. Magazines. Notes and forms full of writing. But none of it related to anyone here in the basement. Nothing was mentioned but strangers and their obscure affairs. Why were these objects turning up? What did it all mean? And what, above all, what was expected of them here?

They had devised a number of means of disposal. Some they burnt as they covered their faces with rags. Other stuff they tried to eat. The big objects they sculpted into an angular sentinel in a conical hat, which they pelted with cans until everyone became sort of embarassed and fell silent. Fang would stuff it all in a car boot and drive it over a cliff. Gregor had taken to baking the things in a high-tech ceramics kiln. He would remove the ingredients before the process was complete, and form this mush into a poultice for his arse. Near the cabinet was an open corner, a stale etheric fold gaping into seemingly bottomless space - this blot of shadow they called the Drop and it was invaluable, swallowing just about all the stuff they could dump there. But throughout they suspected that there was something more specific and important that they should be doing with it all, and sometimes, in private, they wept with the build-up of sheer, unspoken stress. At other times one of the group would go into a hysterical screaming jag at the unstoppable flow of stuff sliding down from the chute above. They never openly communicated their doubts. Inadequacy, depression and fear of discovery grained the gloomy air.

For more, you'll need to get hold of the books. A decent place to find out what they are is here, at SteveAylett.com.