Morse

*You act like you’re superior. Like you’ve reached some higher level of consciousness. Like you see farther than everyone else. You act all profound.

Someone, at some point, must have taken you very seriously. To let you be like this. And don’t think I’m just teasing you, philosopher. Teasing is a way of giving you attention. Don’t think I’m playing the coquette.

 

I actually watched a detective series last night. Morse. I watched Morse. An old episode of Morse. Does that disturb you? It does, doesn’t it?

You think we should all be improving ourselves. You think it should always be a matter of edification. I watched Morse, philosopher! That’s the kind of person you’re with: someone who watches Morse.

Morse is about people. And it’s very melancholy. And there are murders. And there’s a plot. Plots are for stupid people – I’ll bet that’s what you think. You probably like talky arthouse. No – slow cinema. Where nothing happens, solemnly. And no one laughs. I like to laugh, philosopher.

Our tastes diverge, philosopher. I ever read a Stephen King book. On holiday. That’s right: I took a Stephen King book on holiday. It wasn’t a novel by one of your guys: by Maurice Blanchot. That you have to have, like, a philosophy PhD to read. One of your joyless, plotless books. That’s supposed to give you a sense of distinction and cultural capital. Fuck you! I read Stephen King!

Which is why we really shouldn’t be together, philosopher. You should stick with others of your kind. How many are of there of your kind, up here in the northeast? You should put that in your dating profile.

No one believes in high culture anymore, philosopher. You know that. It’s part of why you feel so irrelevant. You do feel irrelevant, don’t you? Marginalised. Not part of the common culture. Not one with the ordinary person. There’s just a few of you, clinging on. An enclave. And you don’t even know each other. About films and books about which no one else gives a fuck.

… And classical music, philosopher. You actually listen to classical music. God. You’re a dinosaur. Listen to me: the voice of the common person, philosopher!

You actually read the London Review of Books, philosopher. People like you really exist. You’re not just made up. People actually read the London Review of Books – imagine that. An endangered species, nearly hunted to extinction. Just a few of you left on the continental mainland. A few of you, in Eastern Europe, maybe. Where they still actually have education. Where people are still interested in learning things.