Friday, May 23

a dialog with himself

B: I am going to write something.

Self: Ok. What are you going to write?

B: Um. Something.

Self: Such as?

B: I'm not sure, but something kind of long. And full of well constructed sentences which are lucid and full of insight.

Self: That's not terribly useful. And your sentences may have impressive construction, but lucid...

B: You're not being very supportive here.

Self: Lucid they ain't. I mean, take the word "lucid". Who the hell even talks like that?

B: W.S. Merwin talks like that.

Self: Yeah, and we all know he's a regular household name. Why just the other day when we were watching that country music awards show everyone was saying how much Darryl Worley's rousing lyrics put them in mind of a really good line from ol' Merwin...

B: I'm not listening.

Self: I can tell you're not listening, you lanky, wheezing goofball. In fact, I can't remember the last time you paid attention to the first thing I...

B: Stuff it, ego boy. The shit I put up with from you, it's no wonder it took me this long to realize that just maybe life doesn't fundamentally suck.

Long, uncomfortable silence.

Self: Isn't this the kind of pseudo-ironic self-referential hipster-wannabe wanking you specifically promised all of us never to engage in?

I have a point there.