You know what impresses me most: that you don’t mind that all this writing’s futile. That no one’s going to read it, really. Do you imagine you’re intervening in some important debate.
What motivates you? How do you keep going? Must be some male thing. It’s headless, in a way. Some reflex. You’ll carrying on writing long after you’re dead. If we chopped your head off, you’d still be at it.
What drives you? What do you want to be? A famous author?
I just want to work.
What at? Why?
Why anything?
Is there a joy in seeing your thoughts expand? Increase? Broaden? Are you getting better at this? is it taking you somewhere? … All these pages. Quoting people. Paraphrasing them. This is what your life has amounted to.
I’m like a bad angel, whispering in your ear. A demotivating angel … I’ve half defeated you. But you’d like to be defeated … What would you do if you weren’t writing?
Giving you head.
But you couldn’t be doing that all the time, could you? Nice as the thought is.
I’d be delighting you. Making sure you were entertained. Making you smile, just to see you smile. That’s what Jane Birkin said about Serge Gainsburg. He never wanted to work when she was around. He just wanted to go out and do stuff and entertain her …
Really, philosopher. You think I’m a trap. A distraction. Some ghastly Temptation. Some mischievous spirit, conjured from … what? The spirit of perversity …
Don’t you ever take time off? What’s time off for you? I’m not real to you, am I? It’s all about your magnum opus … Well, I’m bored of this role. I’m bored of being a distraction. I’m bored of not being serious enough.
You want us to talk like we were in some Ingmar Bergman film. High fucking seriousness. As if we were in 1960s Sweden … I’m supposed to be suffering. Screaming. Crying out to the Lord, or whatever. I can’t work it up – the suffering. I don’t actually want to die. I don’t want to cut off my clitoris, or whatever …
I watch boxsets, philosopher. I watch TV. Isn’t that disgusting? That’s how I spend my free time. My husband and I sit and watch boxsets together. Imagine that! The secret of longevity as a couple is whether you can bear downtime together is the important thing. That’s my pro-tip.
I don’t believe it. I think you secretly despise boxsets and TV …
You’re my excitement. You’ve given me a taste for affairs. Maybe I should have another one. Multiple affairs, all stacked up. Well, life’s so boring, isn’t it? Polyamory is where it’s at. We spend every evening lying on his-‘n’-hers sofas. After a day working from home in his-‘n’-hers offices. That’s life … fuck … something’s missing, isn’t it? He, like, falls asleep in front of our box sets. Imagine that. Like he’s ninety, or something. I want more than that, I said to myself. I want a lover. Or lovers. Several of them. I want to be fucked.
Work in Progress 