Archive for the ‘1000 tiny dialogues’ Category

#498

January 10 2012

A. I’ll give you a dollar if you tell me the most boring thing you know.
B. Prove it.
A. You have to say it first.
B. No. Show me the dollar first. I need to SEE it.
A. I. Don’t actually have it on
B. Liar
A. But when we get back to
B. LIAR
A. I will absolutely give you a
B. Lyre
A. sweet strumming then
B. Lye-er
A. Hey! You can impugn my integrity, you can threaten to pluck my strings, but no one– not nobody– accuses me of dissolving bodies for laughs.
B. And soap.
A. Is that what soap is made actually let’s
B. Sometimes.
A. not talk about it.
B. Some bad times.
A. Seriously. Pop pop.
B. ?
A. Imagine that sound is coming from the tugged corners of your crisp new GW,
B. Gushy Warts?
A. and not my stupid mouth
B. and dumb lips
A. Right. And my dumb lips.
B. And fat tongue.
A. My tongue’s not fat.
B. Eh.
A. If anything, I think it’s too slim.
B. Long though.
A. Oh, most definitely.
B. But also a little bulky.
A. Height-weight appropriate.
B. For Shaq maybe.
A. What, you want to Not Date the Big Daddy Diesel of tongues?
B. Not complaining, just saying.
A. Saying “Oh GOD thank you, Big Poppa Pump
B. That’s Rick Steiner
A. –of tongues. Thank you all the way–
B. Or, Scott Steiner
A. to the FACE BANK”
B. I forget.
A. Oh, yeah. You’re right
B. Which one?
A. Umm… Scott. I’m pretty sure. It’s the shitty one, right?
B. Yeah. The asshole.
A. That’s Scott.
B. Face Bank?
A. What?
B. Whose face?
A. No, it’s a bank of them.
B. Oh.
A. My tongue takes you there.
B. I don’t get it.
A. My tongue is so good you make so many faces, every amazing face, and you gotta store ’em away forever
B. Wow. Really?
A. Yeah.
B. I think it should mean your face
A. What? How?
B. Like, your tongue is taking me all the way, all the way to your face bank and
A. And then
B. then I make a deposit, there
A. In my face bank.
B. Yeah.
A. No. No, I definitely meant to a saveworthy face place.
B. Huh.
A. Either way though
B. Oh yeah, definitely.
A. *eat*
B. *sip*
A. *bite* So how ’bouty ’bout it?
B. Speaking with your mouth full?
A. *chew* No *chew* that dollar bill I wrote your name on
B. Seriously?
A. Yeah.
B. So this was a plan of yours, asking me this?
A. I didn’t think it was going to be such a struggle, but yes. It was.
B. And you, ahead of time, thought to deface legal tender but not to actually bring that legal tender with you?
A. Well I don’t want to get caught.
B. … really?
A. *chew* Yeah.
B. No.
A. What?
B. No. I’m not going to tell you.
A. What? How come?
B. I don’t like it.
A. Being boring? It’s never
B. No. I don’t like you setting up our conversations like this. It feels weird. And gross.
A. Oh come on, it’s just this one dumb
B. Also fuck you. Also: is it?
A. Yeah.
B. Really?
A. Yeah?
B. Yeaah??
A. Yeah.
B.
A. No. It’s not.
B. How not.
A. Very?
B. How v
A. Every single one.
B. Every– All of it? All of them!?
A. No…
B.
A. to the first one. Yes to the second.
B. Make that make sense to me.
A. I come up with something, something for every time we talk. But not everything I say is planned.
B. And the stuff that is planned?
A. Well, there’s a lot of it.
B. But how planned.
A. … pretty planned
B. How planned.
A. I, I come up with an idea. And, um
B. And.
A. And I, well, I practice.
B. To learn your lines?
A. No. I don’t write lines, not usually.
B. Not u
A. I just come up with an idea– something I want to say– something specific maybe– or a question to ask you, but one that will unfold into something rich and interesting. Or sometimes it’s more of a bit like this
B. Offering me a dollar to say something boring
A. Yeah
B. And then that was it– you come up with the idea and that’s it– the dollar thing is it.
A. Yeah…
B. …?
A. I mean, I don’t write out a whole spiel or anything. But. I practice it. Beforehand– usually kind of a lot.
B. How much is a lot.
A. I mean, it’s hard to say, because I’ll run through it in my head at work in the days leading up to our dates,
B. An estimate
A. and that’s not at full concentration, though, and
B. An hour? two hours?
A. six or seven hours?
B.
A. Sometimes more like eight or twelve.
B. Twelve!?
A. I mean, it’s not fully concentrated though.
B. A half of an entire day?!
A. Not in a row.
B. What are you doing for half a day– standing in front of a mirror in a powder blue tux, or army surplus jacket, just… Saying it?
A. No, no. I don’t look in mirrors, I don’t say it out loud, not usually, I don’t even own a mohawk let alone a gun
B. Cute. Did you practice that line too?
A. No. I don’t. That’s not what I do.
B. No?
A. Not really. I j
B. What do
A. C’mon. I’m telling you.
B. *hand gesture*
A. Ugh. So, once I have the idea I just, kind of, imagine myself saying it to you. That’s how it starts. Then, from there, I mean– the first few times it’s just that. I’ll think of something good to say to you and then imagine saying it and you like it.
B. I always like it?
A. Not always. And if, if each time, after like six times saying it, imagining saying it and my idea of you doesn’t like it at least most of those times. Or, say, hasn’t come around to it in a big way, I just ditch it outright.
B. Quality control.
A. Exactly
B. But let’s say dark twisted fantasy me really enjoys it, is totally on board
A. It’s not like that.
B. Not like what?
A. It’s not, perverted. It’s just. It’s just,
B. Unpleasant to think about?
A. No. The opposite of that actually.
B. You sure? It seems
A. It’s that– I like thinking about you. I like being with you so I like thinking about being with you so when I’m bored, when I have to suffer through another stupid day at work, instead of thinking about my job I just think about when, I can next, be. With you. And what I can say to. To
B. To…
A. make you want to want to be, with me, as
B. Ok. No. That
A. much as I want to be with you.
B. Ok, ok. I think I got it. Let’s… just, eat.
A. But each time I ask  dreamyou the question, each time– there might be a different response because
B. *sip, eat; avert*
A. people aren’t always the same person.
B. *last bite, swallow* Can we get the check?
A. Ok, I get it. I know it’s over. That’s fine
B. *to the waitfolk* Everything was great. Excellent, really.
A. but, well, I think
B. Don’t worry. It’s my treat.
A. If everyone could find someone that they wanted to talk to even when they weren’t around, and if everyone did do that– did come up with nice things to say, and someone to say them to– and did think about how what they said would better the lives of those involved and did that– that everything would be better,
B. [already gone]
A. at least a little.
B. [but back again]
A. Now how do you feel about dollar bills?

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#497

January 2 2012

A. Tell me the most boring thing you know.
B. Bed time?
A. No. I’m still talking. We’re still talking.
B. Sure.
A. Just want to know the most boring thing you can think of, to know.
B. Sure.
A. Tell me the most boring thing you know.
B. Sky’s blue.
A. No.
B. What?
A. Boring boring.
B. Boring how?
A. Also true
B. Did the sky change.
A. It’s a reflection of the water
B. No?
A. Yeah. It’s only blue because it’s reflecting the color of the water
B. I think it’s the opposite of that
A. Water’s not red.
B.
A. That sounds familiar actually
B. From school, I bet. Science school.
A. What makes the sky blue then?
B. Cloudy days, ozone depletion, the songs of Harry Chapin, excess black bile
A. dumbass
B. I don’t know. Water particles probably?
A. Yeah. That sounds right.
B. Or the air is made of prisms. Or nanomachines.
A. Nanomachines?
B. Tiny robots.
A. I know what nan- ok, I don’t
B. They’re, they’re little magic robots that can do anything you can’t come up with a better explanation for how it happens
A. Sounds plausible.
B. I mean, they’re real. I think. Or they will be, it’s just
A. They’re not magic yet
B. Yeah. They don’t do things.
A. What does this have to do with the sky?
B. It’s blue because of them. Now or in the future.
A. Oh. Ok.
B. We’ll control the sky that way and then everything ‘ll be ok.
A. I wasn’t aware sky color was one of our more pressing issues.
B. The weather in general.
A. Oh.
B. We’ll be able to control all of it.
A. Huh.
B. No more floods, no more drought.
A. You don’t say.
B. At least not for the rich countries
A. Do rich countries have droughts? I thought that’s why they were rich.
B. Arizona, I bet. Or parts of California. The Dust Bowl, I bet.
A. I could have sworn that was brought on by our poverty…
B. So it was one of those opportunistic natural catastrophes
A. Wealth is how we determine God’s love and when you don’t have it that’s when your guard is down
B. Harsh.
A. It’s an incentive to do good at being successful
B. Because poverty itself isn’t stick enough
A. Well apparently not
B. There’s also no more snow.
A. What? Why!?
B. Snow’s a hazard, both safety-base and bad for the economy.
A. What about for ski resorts?
B. Sure, selectively we would let it snow
A. And then skiing would be better than ever!
B. Yeah. Almost defini
A. And all those snowboard jerks would pay
B. itely I don’t follow.
A. Ski on top of their frozen corpses
B. What?
A. like moguls. Then they’ll know.
B. Why?
A. Like dumb, stupid, jerk moguls… That’s not what I meant though.
B. Yes. Repent your snowvengous ways.
A. No, not not that.
B. Not what then.
A. Not what I meant by a boring thing.
B. Not boring enough? Sky blue’s pretty basic. I mean, once nanomachines get involved I guess
A. But not a fact. Not a sentence. Tell me something really boring.
B. Why?
A. The most boring thing you know.
B. Wait, why though?
A. I’m tired. And I love you.
B. Yes?
A. Just want to hear your voice say dumb things and lay here and let it sink me to sleep.
B. Odd song.
A. No. Sink. Not sing.
B. Weird… cement , piece of.
A. Shoes.
B. Let my words be your  murder shoes.
A. Let your words be my death galoshes.
B. That’s true. If I put you in cement shoes I wouldn’t take your regular shoes off first.
A. Unless they were real fly kicks.
B. That’s true. I wouldn’t want you to soar out of it.
A. Hm? Oh, yeah. I was just trying to be hips.
B. Mm. *grab* You’re always hips.
A. Noo. Not tired enough. Not boring.
B. What? *kiss, reach some* What could be more boring than, at this point, by now, me grabbing on you, kissing your neck, and digging for fire? *dig, fire*
A. Ahn. I think. You’re. You’re *hand v. hand* You’re underestimating my ability to stay real thrilled about the 6 or 7 good things humans can do to each other
B. *one hand slides higher, more nape kisses, quarterback sneak* Are you, fake yawn, sure? Annngh. I for one couldn’t be less so.
A. Yes, yes — yes . Yes.  Yes, I’m . I’m sure, I *dogie ropes, corrals around the waist, buck-less* I’m sure.
B. Fair enough *winter naps the arms, kerchiefs the sternum, and squeezes to settle* So, boring?
A. Be it. For me. Please. Now.
B. And this is to sleep you; it’s not a secret enraptorer.
A. No, I will not become enraptored.
B. Stupit Gehl
A. Excuse me?
B. It’s , the opposite of Clevah Gehl. You know.
A. Right, right.
B. I’m not entirely pleased with it either
A. We can workshop it.
B. Ok, I feel like
A. Later.
B. Oh.
A. Boring thing. Chop chop.
B. Hm.
A. Chip chup, now.
B. I’m thinking.
A. Chirp chirp. I’m not to feather my nest here, fascinatin’ myself.
B. Aw. Baby bird. *head kiss*
A. No, chapped chump. To boring me!
B. *move a strand of hair from mis to place*
A. Chipped chirps.
B. *kiss a cheek, a real good one– cherubic*
A. Churled Serbs!
B. *another face kiss, another, and then lips*
A. Cvrld Cvbrds
B. *continuous*
A. *chilled lips*

Later

A. Now you gotta bore me.
B. Again?
A. No. With your words. And I’m pretty sure I just bore you.
B. Words are fun.
A. Not all words. Not the ones you’re about to tell me.
B. Can’t I just boar y-
A. no.
B. Like a-
A. no.
B. Tusks.
A. *trombone lips*
B. Tusks?
A. *trumpet lips*
B. Da da Da da da Tusks!
A. No, just say dumb things for my unmusement.
B. Don’t you want to know what boaring you would entail tho?
A. Not unless it is also actually twist pun ending really boring.
B. No. *sulk/sigh* It’s super interesting.
A. Well…
B. Yes?
A. One more – but then you have to promise, Double Dog Promise, to bore the shit out of me.
B. That can certainly
A. And not in that way.
B. be, fine.
A. So?
B. Well, I.. well. It.
A. Oh c’mon.
B. I gore y
A. Gore me? With what.
B. My h
A. And if this is an Al Gore joke I swear to God I’m getting a pre-divorce
B. An nonnulment
A.
B.
A.
B. I don’t know. I thought I would come up with something.
A.
B. Probably, like, sex stuff though.
A. I’m getting in position *rubs a sleep groove into the sheets, full bodied*
B. Ok, ok. I’ll start ‘boring’ you.
A. Start?
B. Ah. Clever. Fun.
A. *nustles head into sheet, two words I can’t read, deep rips, then rests on A. Full Body Press*
B. Ok. You ready.
A. So ready. So.
B. Ok. When I was six.
A. Too interesting.
B. No, it’s really not.
A. I know so little of your life. Each bit is at least a little something, and the older the bit the moreso.
B. Fine.
A. But it can’t just be facts though
B. I know somebody
A. *nustle*
B. I don’t actually know them, not– I don’t know their name or anything but I see them everyday. Well, not everyday, but sometimes.
A. So far so good.
B. It’s not too broken up?
A. No. That helps. But, only in small doses or else it becomes frustrating, so, yes. Smooth it out now.
B. We see each other at the crosswalk, outside of work. Usually on the way there, but sometimes on the way back, and, rarely, both.
A. So they work in the same building as you?
B. No. We’re headed in opposite directions.
A. Hm. That threatens to be intrigueful…
B. Are you supposed to be talking? I thought you wanted to sink
A. I can do both.
B. If you want to drown quicker…
A. Except in this case the opposite, no, you’re right. I’ll shut it.
B. Thank you.
A. *smile*… *nod*
B. Right. So every… three mornings or so, and every… seven or nine afternoons, I see this person.
A. *nod on chest*
B. And it has gotten to the point where I recognize them. Well, obviously. I couldn’t be telling you this otherwise.
A. *look up*
B. And I’ve been debating if I should start acknowledging them or not.
A.
B. I mean, they– we don’t usually make eye contact, but I think it’s because they’re avoiding my eye contact. *look down*
A. *opens eyes wide to ‘and…’ or ‘so…’*
B. I know they know I notice them. I’m sure of it. And, it’s not like, it’s not like they look away or anything– I’ve never actually seen her avert me, it, my eye contact, I haven’t. But… but I can just tell. They let their focus go soft. They don’t want to have to know me for some reason.
A. *eyes open, head to chest; awake*
B. If I could. Get their attention, have them acknowledge me. That’s just want I want. Or, what, I mean. But.
A. So, you have a crush on a stranger.
B. What? No.
A. What. Yes.
B. Maybe?
A. Ok.
B.
A.
B.
A.
B. I guess it’s not that boring.
A. It is a little, just not for me.
B. Sorry.
A. Really?
B. Sorry.
A. Huh.

#100.1

November 22 2011

A. When will you come home?
B. C’mon.
A. What? I just want to know.
B. You know.
A. I know.
B. Don’t make this hard for you.
A. I’m not.

A. Everything!
B. Gmm?
A. …what?
B. You said something
A. What?
B. You said ‘everything’.
A. Huh.
B. You just, popped up, and said it
A. What’d I say?
B. ‘Everything’.
A. Everything the word.
B. Yes.
A. Oh.
B. It’s not seventy years later,
A. Yeah.
B. so it couldn’t have been everything everything.
A. Only seventy years?
B. Yep.
A. Huh. I thought
B. I did too.
A. Well.
B.
A.
B. Going back to sleep?
A. Not just yet.
B. Ok.
A. How about you
B. No. I can stay up.
A. Good. It’s less lonely this way.
B. I can imagine.
A. Not that watching you is exactly ‘the pits’
B. No?
A. No.
B. Hmm.
A. Is that too
B. No. I’m just trying to figure how pleased I should be that I’m not a boring sleeper.
A. Well, I wouldn’t go that far…
B. No?
A. I mean, it’s not like you’re sleeptalking, or sleepdancing or sleeptryingtogetwithme
B. That’s good.
A. Eh.
B. That’s bad?
A. It’s not bad, it’s just , you know, not not boring.
B. Then why watch me?
A. It’s just nice.
B. Nice but boring.
A. Not everything has to be exciting; sometimes what you want the most is something boringly nice.
B. Like rice, or ambient music;
A. or oak trees, or church;
B. or a conversation with your parents,
A. maybe your parents,
B. definitely my parents.
A. Well then it’s settled:
B. my parents– boring but nice.
A. The ideal way for parents to be.
B. I’m not complaining.
A.
B.
A. *stifle*
B. What?
A. *chortle, snort*
B. What’s so funny?
A. I can’t stop picturing that your parents are Brian Eno and a bowl of rice.
B. Hm.
A. You’re talking to them at an island; all three of you relaxed, casual. Real pleasant, mostly.
B. Which island? Are we standing on water…
A. No, like a kitchen island.
B. Oh.
A. Brian Eno is there in his Steve Jobs turtleneck. The bowl of rice is porcelain and single portion sized.
B. It’s hard to imagine that I was once able to be carried in a bowl so small.
A. Brian Eno’s baldness is graying and so is the rice.
B. Does rice gray as it ages?
A. It’s becoming visibly crumby, and increasingly congealed.
B. What about the bowl?
A. Fading– like a book left out in the sun. Slowly, but by now significant enough to notice.
B. Sad.
A. Yeah.
B. But we’re all happy, though?
A. Yes. I mean, I think so. Boring but nice– remember?
B. Yeah. I was just worried about what occasion has brought us back together.
A. Hmm. That’s true. I didn’t think about that.
B. Is it Christmas?
A. No.
B. Oh.
A. I can’t rule it out, but the sky is so sunny and looks so warm; there are no decorations up
B. and bowl of rice is a decorator
A. exactly
B. Yeah, you’re probably right. Well, if it’s not Christmas, and it is sunny and warm out, so it’s probably not Thanksgiving
A. No turkeys, no cornucopiae
B. Then that means it’s probably not a holiday.
A. Yeah.
B. Which means that it’s probably
A. a wedding or a funeral.
B. Mm.
A. You don’t really go back for no reason.
B. What need is there, when our conversations are so nice
A. but boring.
B. Hm.
A. Hem.
B.
A.
B. Are there gifts?
A. Gifts?
B. Like, wedding gifts? Are there wedding gifts lying around?
A. Hmmmmmm, no.
B.
A. But that could just mean it’s someone else’s wedding; it doesn’t have to be yours.
B. I was thinking maybe one of my siblings.
A. Aren’t they all already married?
B. Yes.
A. So why would it be them.
B. I don’t know. Do we know for sure when this is?
A. You look like you look now.
B. Sure. Ok. But I don’t really go around drastically changing my appearance all the time.
A. True. It’s what I like best about you.
B. Thanks?
A. But I can just sort of tell, I think.
B. That it is now?
A. That it is close to now.
B. Well no one I know is getting married for, like, two years. So
A. But no one you know is dying, right
B. As far as I know
A. Maybe you’re just visiting — you don’t seem too distraught.
B. You can’t be sad all the time, even during a funeral trip.
A. True.
B. Although, if we’re that relaxed or casual, it’s probably not anyone in my immediate family…
A. True.
B. And Brian Eno and the bowl of rice– they’re not wearing anything particularly funereal, right?
A. Well Brian Eno is wearing a black turtleneck, but I think he always wears that in this version.
B. And the bowl of rice?
A. Is… a bowl of rice.
B. But she’s not in a special black mourning bowl?
A. No.
B. Huh.
A.
B.
A.
B.
A. You seem happy, so I don’t think it’s a funeral. Or at least, well.
B. At least well what?
A. You’re definitely not funeral sad, I’m pretty sure, and your parents aren’t sad.
B. Just pretty sure?
A. You’re a hard read. I’m pretty sure you’re not funeral sad but what evidence do I have to corroborate that interpretation.
B. You don’t.
A. Right.
B.
A. And if it can’t be a wedding, and it’s probably not a birth?
B. Hm. Not if it’s one or two months from now.
A. So, maybe it’s a birthday?
B. Hm.
A. No?
B. I don’t know. My uncle’s birthday is next month, but I don’t see me coming home for that.
A. Well… it’s just a picture I saw, right
B. Yeah.
A. One in which your parents were replaced by nonsense objects.
B. That’s true
A. Maybe we shouldn’t read too much into it.
B. Mm.
A. Right?
B. Mm
A.
B.
A.
B.
A. *snort*
B.
A. *snort, sprrtr, tss*
B.
A. Hee heehe
B. Whaat?
A. Now I can’t stop picturing a young, long-horseshoe-haried Brian Eno going to town on a small bowl of a rice.
B. Oh, stop
A. Teeheeeheeheee he’s really giving your rice mom the business
B. C’mon
A. Baahehhahahaaaheeha *snort, snort, inhale*

Red Eye Fragments

November 16 2011

As written between sleep and not sleep:

Leg Cop
1.

pardon me, miss
but you are in violation of section 7 of
chapter 6 code 368.31.7
subsection I-yi-yi!

OR

legs are illegal now
those with, try to hide them
or suffer the bone bruising, cap snapping consequences

Those who have them take them out, show them for money at night.
It’s hard work – having to find a suitable location where they can take them out
& know they won’t get caught

and when they do well
they wish they didn’t because
the cops – aware of how bad this is
and how literally attached they are to their
illicit limbs – take and press full advantage

except

It’s actually/ultimately not that different from not getting caught because so does everyone else (know, press) and blackmail and sexual manipulation are so far down the charts from having legs and plus it’s so much better with legs just try picturing it without them (gross)

LEG ! COP !*
He has a hat stuck on the top of his stump that keeps the femur from sticking out and disappointing everyone, because otherwise…

It’s a cop hat. He looks like people but in leg form.
The knee is the waist and the foot is the feet.
The mouth is upper-mid-thigh– just where you would want to clamp your hand over  and the eyes are above that obviously

A cop hat and holding a baton in the teeth,
as the situation dictates it could be handcuffs or a tazer or a donut;
evidence, cop dog leash, or mace gets wielded with the feet aka the foot;
no one will ever give him a gun and they don’t let him drive;
I hope he dies.

****Now with NEW ACCESSORIES****
– bull horn
– gas mask
– LRAD
– riot shield pant leg
– a double barrel beer helmet but with rubber bullet/pepper pellet blow gun tubes

Kit your Leg Cop out in the standard outerwear of our benevolent all-seeing, all-beating safekeepers.
They can see you in the dark and through your house, sleeping.
More machine than man.

2. Through a house, sleeping

Will that be the point when we finally say enough?
When, as standard police gear, comes some infrared/echolocating/nanomagical eyewear that effectively lets them look in all houses at all times
(And by that time just how too late will it be?)

Genuine Prediction: even then we won’t and will get Real Mad at / condescending towards those who do.

Rowling — by that time all policework will have long been insourced to domestic private militaries. I mean, Unions? slash why be on the hook for benefits when you can pay just as much and escape all forms of culpability, regulation, or oversight?

Leg(islation-proof) Cop!

O! Leg Cop

when you’re driving, just
grabbing it well not grabbing it:
holding it, immensely

Nah.
Doesn’t fit.
Some things you can’t uncontext.
Oh, Leg Cop– will you ever learn?


*note: “This all seems familiar — does Leg Cop already exist? …Oh! Irritability! I remember– did they ever make that thing a cop? But, still. Yeah” http://maze.icomix.com/comicpage/index1.html


Your Hands They’re Mine So Few Hours

hour one: holding for the first moment and moments– magical. After two minutes: well this is happening I guess. After 49 minutes this has gone on plenty long enough. Approaching one full hour. You can’t feel my fingers any more. Not really.

hour two: and come to speak of it, our hands have sort of stopped seeming like four separate things. Speak because I’m saying all this out loud. All nine sentences of it? Yes. All eleven. Or twelve?

hour three: no penny has ever been this sweat-slick. Nothing clutched has by hands quite ever been. Your word order atrophies, inintricaciesates itself. but also my words are your words too. I can feel your palmbeat in your heart. I can see it. Take a picture to long laster, last after.

hour four: no one is laughing. Fingers don’t unentangle now, can’t. It’s. It’s. I don’t think– I think we’ve reached a no-going back point and now *try* no, it’s not ever going to, wait!

hour five: still together but fingers have regained partial autonomy. Got their wiggle back. Also I just ate poison and am d


#611

A. Maybe I’m wrong
B. About what?
A. About loving you.
B. Oh.
A. I thought I did, but
B. …but?
A. It could just be, no
B. It could just be what?
A. Gas.
B.
A. See? People don’t say things for a reason
B. That’s fucked up.
A. Language.
B. That’s a real fucked up thing to say to someone
A. It’s not all that.
B. You compared my love to a fart.
A. What? No. Not that kind of gas.
B. Fuck you.
A. Like laughing gas, but for love
B. Fuuuck. You.
A. I’m not saying I think you dosed me, just. I feel like maybe
B. Maybe fuck you?
A. Maybe, at some point, either because of some words we said, some words you said to me, or looks we did.
B. Bullshit.
A. Maybe they mixed in such a way that – upon sublimation – something was created that laced in me some too-deep affection.
B. No. Bullshit.
A. And I felt feelings too soon that I shouldn’t have been feeling yet -maybe ever- and now
B. Have some dignity, prick.
A. the whole operation is out of order, the whole process irrevocably botched, and we can never be nothing, something.
B. Don’t talk in headlines at me, prick.
A. I know I’m not wrong, just gassed.
B. Is that it?
A. Yes
B. Do you have any more fucking too cute / so precious nonsense to
A. Yes
B. shove dow– yes!? Yes as in no, or Yes as in fuck you?
A. Yes as in fuck me.
B.
A. The gas isn’t wrong either.
B. Oh Jesus Christ
A. I’m not wrong and the gas isn’t wrong; I still love you
B. Fuck you
A. and also realize I don’t and never have and never will.
B. FUCK you
A. I like breathing it,
B. No.
A. the gas. I enjoy loving you, being in love
B. No, not ok. Fuck Y- no.
A. with you. I wish I could be in love with you, for real, truly, and that all the love you give me
B. Ggkkhaaahh
A. I could in good conscience keep
B. ahhhhhhhh
A. and tuck away, treasure, reciprocate
B. hhdddddDDd
A. I wish I could let your love not only land but plant, take root and
B. DdDdDdDdDDD
A. flower, blossom, bloom – cultivate a bumper crop, a tailgate crop, a some other car part crop from which we could harvest enough moments and secrets and dances
B. DDAA
A. and heldhands to feed us for
B. AAMMNNIITTTTT
A. well ever.
B. T.
A. I wish I could have had you have-
B. I wish

#507

November 16 2011

A. I can’t stop.
B. Can’t stop what?
A. Thinkin’.
B. Really?
A. Yeah– I do it and then I keep on doing it.
B. Oh, you wrote my epitaph for me. What a pal.
A. … what?
B. Here lies B “I did it and then kept on doing it”
A. Into the grave?
B. No. Just in general.
A. Oh. Ok.
B. I actually die of femoral halitosis.
A. Ah. Stink Bone.
B. I mean, if you want…
A. … to be party to you fucking yourself to death?
B. To be part of me f-
A. that’s what I said
B. -ucking my self- of, I said of
A. That’s the same as, no.
B. No what
A. This is dumb– how are you?
B. I’m ok.
A. Really? W-
B. No.
A. -ell, ok. Why not?
B. I c-
A. No, wait– fuck that.
B. Ok
A. I’m the one– the one who can’t stop ‘thinkin”– you need to grill me
B. Nooo. Boring.
A. Dibs. I’ve already
B. Shotgun!
A. Sh-guh- no. No, that doesn’t
B. Called shotgun.
A. No. I already had dibs.
B. But did you call shotgun?
A. Shotgun rules don’t apply here.
B. Shotgun rules apply everywhere.
A. No.
B. If you didn’t think so, then why did you play along?
A. I didn’t
B. “Shah-guuh”??
A. It was a reflex. Force of habit. It was–
B. A likely story
A. Yes. It was. Thank you for

15 Hours Later

B. Shotgun!
A. Sh-guh-what?
B. Hehehe- gottit.
A. Gotwhat? We’re going to bed– there’s no passenger position to be got.
B. For you there isn’t–
A. AND for you
B. –because I called shotgun.
A. It’s a bed. If anything, we’re both in the passenger seat.
B. Ahh. It’s like being on a magic carpet ride.
A. It’s always like
B.A Whole New World!
A. that
B. A new fantastic point of view
A. Honestly, you have no one to blame but yourself-
B. Something, way up – where… the, uh–OH Atmosphere
A. -if each trip to bed isn’t at least a LI’L-
B. Let me see this whole new world with
A. -bit magical.
B. Youlet me share this whole new world with
A. I’ll let you share this
B. Youuuuuuuuuu
A. Although, I guess I might be too.
B. uuuuuuu too what?
A. To blame. Sometimes. Maybe a little.
B. Blame? For what?
A. Nevermind.
B. No, no– it sounds like I’m getting a free excuse. Count me in.
A. Just during bed and stuff.
B. You’re to blame for beds?
A. No.
B. Because besides the Burning kind, they’re actually pretty much a good thing.
A. But the Burning kind
B. So, quit bragging.
A. the Burning kind isn’t an exception.
B. Misandrist.
A. He was beating her half to death!
B. Oh. Really?
A. Yes!
B. I guess I never saw it and only knew it from references
A. … and none of the references even alluded to the domestic violence context?
B. I don’t know. I’m tired, ok.
A. So am I.
B. Shotgun!
A. Shah-gu-uGH
B. Winner!!
A. Why do I keep falling for it?
B. Now let me get that sweet passenger seat in our big fake grave plot
A. Fake what now?
B. You know– because falling asleep is like faking your own death
A. No?
B. Except, you know, without the disguises and social security fraud
A. Which side is even the passenger side anyways
B. The right.
A. Ohh. But I always sleep on the right
B. Not tonight, Abu.
A. No.
B. It’s Big Prince Ali’s turn
A. Nuh-uh. You take that back.
B. Take what b-
A. Monkey. I’m not your Abu. No way.
B. But you look so fetching in a vest…
A.
B. and fez…
A.
B. …and no pants or shirt.
A. *sigh* You’re right. I’m nothing if not a fine-ass organ grindin’ piece of future person
B. That’s right. You paw your way up here and get ready to screech.
A. No, no, no. I’m not partaking in some kind of Rule 34 Aladdin Slash Disney Nightmare Roleplay
B. C’mon. Carpet’s got a hot spot just for you
A. … at least let me be Jasmine
B. Ariel and you have a deal.
A. No fishtail
B. Fishtai– gah.
A. No way.
B. Ugh. Fine. You can be the girl squirrel from The Sword In The Stone.
A. The fat one that nearly kills Merlin with her love?
B. No, dummy. The one that
A. Ohh, right. The one whose Arthur heartbreaks.
B. I think you’ve got that missed up, but yes.
A. That’s cute, but too sad.
B. So? It can’t all be peanut butter and jelly and pickles
A. Can’t it?
B. No. … I consider peanut butter and jelly and pickles delicious, by the w.
A. Yes, yes. I know. All too well
B. Point is, can’t all be Twizzlers in root beer
A. But it’s roleplay…
B. The Twizzlers being used as a straw.
A. … it’s roleplay therefore Yes It Can. For once you have total control.
B. Not total control enough to get that fishtail.
A. No one man should have all that power
B. And not total control so that if you were super ugly I couldn’t role play away your beastliness.
A.
B. IF. I said. … You’re not!
A. That’s n-
B. In fact, fez or no fez, vest with shirt or vest without shirt, you’re quite fetching.
A. Thank you.
B. Fetching at fetching compliments from me at three in the morning.
A. Yes?
B. Continue
A. I lost my train of thought– was I saying something?
B. You were lecturing me about the merits of roleplay.
A. … really?
B. Yeah. You were saying — well, taking me to task for, really– , that I should exclude all sadness from my roleplays.
A. Yeah. Wel-
B. The sex kind.
A. … yeah, well. I’m not wrong.
B. But that kind of texture can be just as satisfying. If not moreso.
A. But I also don’t care, really.
B. Oh! Good.
A. Now scooch over.
B. I called shotgun.
A. Scooch!
B. No fair.
A. Now call me Steppenwolf because you are about to come with me little girl on a magic carpet ride so exhilarating & fantastical that, 3 movies later, Mulan will swoon.
B. Oh! You can be the Eddie Murphy Dragon.
A. Ugh. Take off those pants.

46 minutes later

A. Hey.
B. Hey.
A. Like I was going to say.
B. Mm?
A. Like I was going to say before…
B. Mm. Too tired.
A. C’mon. I remembered.
B. No, it’s ok. You can tell me. I just , will probably , drift off to sleep while you do so.
A. Oh. Ok. That’s fair.
B. Ok that’s fair
A. The point was: you only have yourself to blame (and, maybe, sometimes, me) for not making every bed, not having every bed be a magic carpet ride.
B. But sometimes I’m too tired
A. Not like that.
B. Or drinky
A. It doesn’t have to be sexual.
B. Or you’re away from me.
A. You could just take ten minutes
B. Or you’re here but you’re not here
A. or fifteen, or twenty
B. either figurative , like , if not literal
A. just a bloc of quiet, eyes wide, in the dark, in bed reflection
B. or you’re too here , super present , squeezing me out
A. making the most of your time in bed, warm
B. or turning me off
A. blanket all pulled up to the chin
B. or
A. hands over the hem, pulling it up
B. or , if .
A. or making the most of our time in bed together
B.
A. just really being close, touching bodies but not touching, or
B.
A. just some touching, lite touching, and
B.
A. just holding. And quiet, conspiratorial nothingful chatter
B.
A. just waiting [for it to happen]

(skip to 7:45)

#110

October 27 2011

A. I’m out.
B. Out… where?
A. All out.
B. Of?
A. Things to say to you.
B. Oh.
A. Just you though, not anyone else.
B. Well that answers my follow-up question…
A. Really?
B. No. I was probably going to let that sink in for a bit first.
A. It’s not me, it’s you.
B. I gathered.
A. And it’s not just that when I talk to everyone else there’s so much new territory, or old territory that I haven’t yet, with them, covered
B. No?
A. No. It’s that, on any topic, covered or uncovered, they just have so much more to offer. They being everyone.
B. Quality or quantity?
A. Quantity and quality.
B. And this is true for everyone?
A. Almost everyone, yes.
B. Ok, but there are some exceptions then. I have more to offer you then at least one person on Earth.
A. ‘Sort of’ to the first part, ‘no’ to the second
B. What? Hold on
A. Well everyone technically includes you, and you’re
B. And I’m about on par with me…
A. Actually, I know it’s super paradoxical, but no. You’re somehow even worse than you.
B. Oh, c’mon. Really?
A. I don’t get it either! It doesn’t make any sense but it is still indisputably the case.
B. Wait. You only speak English though.
A. That’s true. I bet other languages have structures or tenses that can handle this.
B. That’s not what I meant.
A. What did you mean then? Being insulting isn’t going to somehow endear you to me; you’re not Don Rickles and this isn’t compelling
B. It’s not that. It’s– there are 5 or 6 billion people on the planet you don’t even speak the same language as. You’re telling me that my conversation can’t interest you more than at least one of those thousands of millions of people you can’t understand at all?
A. What could possibly be more fresh and engaging than trying to find or create a common basis for communication with someone with whom you don’t share a language with.
B. I… didn’t think of that.
A. You wouldn’t have. You never do.
B. Hey!
A. Hey is for horse-faced simpletons. I’d say prove me wrong but, well, that and six months of evidence to the contrary nets you 183 less days to live.
B. Hey…
A. Pitch. Perfect.
B. Ok, ok. I’m not as quick or sharp or clever as you, but what about children. You’re telling me every single child is going to give you a better conversation than me?
A. Are you kidding?
B.
A. That wasn’t rhetorical.
B. No. No, I’m not kidding.
A. Kids are endlessly fascinating. They are tiny human aliens, new to our culture and ways of living, but also, still, exactly the same as us.
B. Sure. I mean, yes. In theory, technically. Sure.
A. Y’sure?
B. But you’ve talked with kids before– it’s not all you’re cracking it up to be.
A. Not when they have to talk to you…
B. Bull Shit. I call bull shit. Some kids, sure– but all of them? No way.
A. ______. Have you ever seen yourself interact with kids?
B. In body? Yes.
A. No, outside of body. True perspective.
B. *sigh* No. Of course not.
A. You talk to them as if they’re adults.
B. Yes! Exactly! That’s what all kids want! I remember when I was–
A. No. It’s not.
B. No, no, no. You’re wrong on this. You’re–
A. No. I know. They do– they want to be treated like adults. But not really; not all the way. And
B. You’re wrong. Everything you’ve said: my boringness, how uninteresting I am, how boring it is to have a conversation with me– it’s all under a microscope n
A. AND, BEsides, the adult they want to be spoken to like is a regular fun adult, not an accountant.
B. Wait, what?
A. You Are Boring. You Talk To Kids Like You’re Grilling An Alive Actuarial Table. They Don’t Enjoy It, You Don’t Enjoy It; Nobody Wins.
B. I… I don’t think that’s true.
A. I’m sorry. But you are the worst with kids. Like, it would be better if you actively antagonized them rather than try to do whatever it is you think you’re doing.
B. No. No, kids hate that.
A. Actually, kids sort of like that.
B. No! I remember when adults would do that to me; nothing made me more infuriated. And exasperated. And ashamed.
A. Seriously. Do yourself a favor and just , step out of that dumb self of yours for two seconds.
B. That’s you solution for everything.
A. And? Last time I checked solutions still the number one desired outcome to problems.
B. I don’t see how this is going to accomplish
A. Just humor me.
B. Uch. Fine.
A. Good. If you need a refresher on h-
B. I .KNOW. how to step outside of myself.
A. Well, if you need any
B. I’m trying to concentrate. Shh
A.
B.
A.
B.
A. Seriously, I do this for a living
B. No. I almost , almost. I’ve
A. It shouldn’t be this much of an effort
B. Got it– GOT IT!
A. HEAR YOU. You’re the one who’s abstential, not me.
B. RIGHT. Right.
A. Now look at yourself.
B1. I’m looking
BA. Ok, even if I grant you kids– which I’m not ready to do– even if I grant you that, then surely not babies. Newborns, young infants: they can’t communicate at all
A. So cute though, right    [STEREO]
B1. That’s sort of beside the point isn’t it?
BA. If you like that sort of thing I guess
A. But who wouldn’t like that? [STEREO]
B1. Oh, maybe people who like to have adult, two-way conversations like you supposedly do?
BA. Oh, maybe people who want to get more back for their troubles than ‘gaa’ or ‘mef’
A. Yet some of my favorite conversations have been completely one-sided [STEREO]
B1. That’s not fair, I’m not–
BA. So you admit I bring enough to the table to have given you some of your favorite conversations!
A. [singing] You’re so vain… [STEREO]
B1. Hey! Quit selling us out, AlsoMe
BA. That’s not a no
A.   If you wan– [STEREO]
B1. Well it’s not much of a yes either– have some self-respect.
A. You can’t hear you. [STEREO]
BA. Listen, I know how I come off sometimes, but I genuinely make an effort
B1. Oh, great. Smooth move, Imodium AD. Now I’m gonna be conversing with myself.
A. See? Not even you want to hear you [STEREO]
BA. What? What is it I’m supposed to be hearing?
B1. Me. You need to hear me to figure out.
A. And you’re too busy responding your perception of my response to your response to your perception of your own self-loathing to know [STEREO]
BA.
B1.
A. Now, if you could just [STEREO]
B. You told me that I wasn’t worth talking to! [STEREO]
A. Well I’ll have to take your word on that.