Do you ever feel everything you say is in quotes, like it’s been said before? By someone else, maybe. Or by us in another life … Do you ever feel that all this happened before, and we’re just living it again? That all this is part of the whole of life flashing before your eyes as you die?
Do you ever think it’s all been said before – that everything’s been said before? That we can’t say a single new thing? … It’s like all the words have already been prepared. All the scripts for lovers’ talk. All the things lovers have said. And we only get to quote …
Do you ever think that I might say something profound, just by chance? That would surprise you, wouldn’t it, philosopher? That I might be the clue to the truth of all things. Out of the mouth of the organisational manager, eh, philosopher? That I might be the key to it all … It might speak through me, whatever it is …
Where does all this talk lead? Where does it take us? Nowhere. The same place as we were before.
But everything’s a little bit different.
No, everything’s even more the same …
We’re so meta. Talking about his stuff. Instead of just … romancing. Fucking, or whatever.
Talking’s part of it.
I don't belive it.
Do you worry that we’ll never get to the point? That we’ll never talk about what really concerns us – what’s really important? Do you ever think that everything we say just gets in the way?
Listen to me. I used to be an organisational manager. What am I now: a philosopher?
All this talking, and we never get to the point.
What point?
There’s something important to be said, I’m sure of it. Something that wants to be said.
That’s enough shit-talking for one day. Have we talked enough? Have we decided things? Who’s listening, anyway?
God, maybe.
Does he tired of our wittering? He’s supposed to love us, but who could love us. I don’t love us.
All the stuff we’re saying echoes with something. What’s important is the echoing. What echoes through what we say.
What is it?
Some great rumbling. A roaring – but very far away.
Work in Progress 