Affair III

I think we’ve covered everything.

I think we’ve covered everything in shit.

We’ve said enough.

We’ve always said enough. Everything we say is too much. Words on top of words. Layers of words reaching up to heaven.

 

The nihilism’s become too great. It’s, like, flipping over. Like what’s supposed to happen with Earth’s magnetic poles.

 

Why do you get to have me at the height of my so-called beauty?

I share it with your husband.

Why did you deserve anything?

 

That face you do. That one. When …

When what?

When we’re fucking.

Do you like it?

 

You’d like a serious love, wouldn’t you? A heavy browed French love. All moody. This doesn’t quite measure up, does it? Poor you. You want someone who takes it all desperately seriously.

 

You think there’s some vast, silent coup going on. Some sublime takeover from on high. Maybe you’re right … Is that what we’re living through? Are we fucking in the middle of that? When there are, like, Great Historical Things happening?

 

What if we were actually together – what then? Who would we become? Another unbearable, stifled couple. Another mediocre couple. Isn’t that what the world needs: more mediocre couples?

 

I hate nature.

What if we’re not natural? What if we were produced against nature?

Nothing’s against nature.

But what if? What if we’re some fluke? Some flaw?

 

We’re approaching the heart of the afternoon. We’re going to catch the afternoon out. Doing whatever it does. Afternooning, or whatever.

 

We’re zombies – we’re already dead. They’re just letting us wander around, the walking dead. But they want us more dead. To die deeper.

 

All the illicit affairs people have had. All the animal affairs, by all the bored people. All the restless people.

 

I make up long speeches to say to you, but then when I get here, I forget what I was going to say. I walk around talking to you in my head. Just imagining you.

 

You have an optimistic and trusting nose. How can you tell? What have noses got to do with anything? You can see everything in the nose. And the chin. And in the shape of the eyes.

 

You have such kind fingers, though your thumb looks rather stubborn.

 

The sky’s changing. It’s purple. Rainclouds coming in. Or whatever. I didn’t think a sky could be purple like that.

God, the way you can see the whole sky.

 

Rain on the skylight. It’s very calming.

 

I was never into casual sex. Too disturbing.

So you’re not sex positive.

I’m sex negative.

You do surprise me.

 

Walking to St Marys.

Are you worried you’ll be seen?

Maybe I’d like to be seen. With my lover.

What about you couple friends: what if they saw you?

Our couple friends are quite dull. We’ve had a million dull evenings. Very dreary. This is far more exciting.

But it won’t be exciting forever.

 

We want to live we’re pigs, right. We want to wallow in this debasement. We want to be damned. To damn ourselves. We want to be punished by God or something. We want to be sinners.

No we don’t. don’t fucking fool yourself. don’t pretend to be growing a conscience.

 

Look, our affair is as mediocre as anything else. It’s not even risky. It’s not even life or death. It’s just another consumer option. 

 

Do you want to push yourself to become the best organisational manager you can be? Rise to the top in organisational management studies?

 

Do you fuck your husband, or make love to him?

 

Today could be the greatest day in the history of the world.

 

You think I talk too much, don’t you? You’d like me to be solemn. You’d like me to be serious. You’d like me to say Serious Things. You’d like a muse. Are you disappointed?

 

Maybe we should invite another woman along to pep things up. Or a man. Maybe we should be a thruple. It’s a consumer option, right?

 

Look, I’ve got you to smile. Woo.

 

Have we wasted time all our lives. Have we wasted our lives until now. Will we waste them afterwards?

 

I remember the first time I wanted to kiss you.

Do you?

 

What are you supposed to do on days like this?

Gaze into the nothingness.

 

Vagueness: do philosophers ever write about that? They should. The fucking vague-out.

 

Why do you care so much about God? I thought God had no place in the organisational management world.

Maybe God’s the ultimate organisational manager.

 

I got all dressed up for you. And now I’ve undressed for you. Come to bed, philosopher.

 

I’m just living from orgasm to orgasm these days.

 

Do you mind that no one knows about us?

 

And it’s not as if you’re the man of my dreams. You were just there, that’s all.

Thanks.

It’s not as if I picked you from a crowd. It’s not like it was you and only you.

But you’re here, aren’t you?

I’ve been drawn in. You’re intriguing, I admit that. I’ve been caught up in your mad little world.

 

I love you more than I ever felt possible. What would it mean to say those words?

Would you like to say them?

It always sounds like we’re quoting. Everything we say.

 

This is playing at love. That’s what we’re doing, both of us: playing at love.

 

Are we just fucking or is this something else?

Just fucking.

 

I shouldn’t be falling for you: isn’t that what lovers say?

Is that what you feel: that you’re falling for me?

 

Thinking about what our romance might be. What it could be. If we allowed it …

We’d be just like anyone else.

 

I don’t even know who you are. You’re a mystery. Capital M. I only know you as a sexual animal. That nothing can hold back.

Grr.

 

Let’s go back to the day when sex was invented.

 

This is our … heyday.

 

You’re the kind of person who feels at home on holiday. Who knows what to do on holiday. Right?

You were made to luxuriate. You’re at ease with being at ease. You luxuriate in luxuriance. To have, like, romantic intrigues.

 

Love is just the obverse of organisational management. You’ve turned the world into organisational management, and you want to escape. Love is what organisational managers dream of. That’s where you put all your hopes.

 

There’s something about all this that’s meta for you. You’re enjoying your enjoyment. Savouring it. Luxuriating in it. Like a cat.

 

I think you incite cruelty. You bring it out in others. You want it. You’re a submissive, is that it? And the way you don’t really react.

I just want to be cruel. I don’t know if I like myself like this. I don’t know whether it’s good for me. See my husband will just tell me to stop. Whereas you … encourage it.

I’m glad this is just an affair, I’m glad we’re not married, or anything. I don’t know what I’d do to you.