Judgement Night

My flat.

In bed.

I’m glad you phoned. I’m glad you came round. Distracted me.

You don’t look glad.

I was working …

And I interrupted. Like the man from Porlock …

It was a cool interruption.

It was good, wasn’t it? And now here I am in your most private sanctuary. Your thought-refuge. Now I can see where it all happens …

You’re taking the piss.

Priya, picking up a notebook. The front cover: I want to confess as honestly as I can, but my heart is empty. And the emptiness is a mirror turned toward my own face. I see myself in it, and it fills me with loathing and horror.

You must think what you’re doing is really worthwhile. That must be your motivation.

I just wanted to find things to do alone in a room. Other than masturbate.

Don’t try and be funny. Don’t try to pass it off as something else …

Priya, reading from my notebooks. Judgment Day becomes Judgment Night, when the angels descend and graves open. It will be terrible to see.

I don’t know what to do except write. Read and write. Even if I’m not very good at either. I think it’s because my life is essentially empty.

Or perhaps you want it empty – so you can do this. Whatever this is ….

I like staying in. I’m doing this because I don’t like it out there. Because I don’t like … what everyone else likes. Life, or whatever.

So this is a consolation.

You’re a consolation.

Do you mind me being here? Am I a distraction? Am I getting in the way of your work? Ha – I quite like getting in the way of your work.

I was thinking about you when I was working.

You do.

Sure.

Did you fantasise?

Sure, I fantasised.

Were you thinking of what you’d like to do to me?

I wanted to fuck you.

And so you did. Because I was thinking about being fucked by you. I was thinking about that all day.

Priya, reading from my notebooks. l can't live in this world.
Yes, you can, but you must have something to hold on to.

Do you take advice, philosopher? Do you like it? Do you welcome feedback? Are you receptive to the thoughts of lesser philosophical mortals?

Do I have any choice?

You put a lot into this. Too much, maybe. Isn’t it a bit laboured? You should write something that’s closer to the way you speak. You don’t speak like this, do you?

And there’s so much of it. So you write every day? Every – single – day? Do you have that much to write?

I write anyway.

You must really believe in yourself. You take yourself seriously. Someone, at some time, must have told you that you were great. That great things were expected of you. God, you have such confidence. Like the world wants to know your thoughts …

I wrote it for myself.

You wrote it for posterity. These aren’t just notes. You actually think your thoughts are worth preserving … I’m lucky to be here. To be admitted into the study of a genius …

Reading … Are you stroking my cheek? Are you whispering in my ear? Are you with me now?

Face it, I’m just an interrupter. A regular villainess. You’re so profound, so melancholic, so romantic … And I’m just shallow, selfish and full of basic needs.

And you, meanwhile, are holding out for someone who’ll find you perfectly fascinating. Be in awe of you and think you’re a real genius. Someone who doesn’t just want you for your body, like I do. But for your – mind. For what’s in your head.

She’d be quite in awe of you. She wouldn’t disturb you when the Muse visited. When you needed to be alone to think. She’d be fascinated by your literariness. By your philosophical-ness – is that a word? Of course, she’d have to be very young. Terribly young. Dreamy … Ready to be in awe of her really cool boyfriend … Are there girls like that anymore? I don’t think there are, unfortunately for you …

Reading: God's silence. God's silence? God's silence.

You’re gambling everything on being a genius, philosopher. But what if you’re not one?

I’m definitely not.

I’m definitely not a genius.

Which is very sad when what you want – what you need – is to be taken very, very seriously. For there to be, like, documentaries about you. Special editions of journals on your work. Conferences to be held in your honour.

But you know I think all that stuff is bullshit!

I can see it now, your vanity – which would pose as anti-vanity, of course. In a refusal to appear on camera. In keeping your head bowed at all times, like one of those monks who never looks up to the ceiling of his cell. You’d play all humble. Refuse all the accolades … Shake your head at the encomiums … But all the while secretly enjoying the attention …

Reading.

l enter a large room. lt's bright and peaceful. People are moving back and forth. Some of them talk to me and l understand them. lt's so nice, and l feel safe. ln some of their faces there's a shining light. Everyone is waiting for him to come, but no one is anxious. They say that l can be there when it happens. Sometimes l have this intense yearning. l long for that moment…  when the door will open … and all the faces will turn to him.

You want to be some European throwback. A throwback to some culture you weren’t even part of. Philosophy’s something you’d like to be good at, but are never really sure you’re good at.

And what are you going to have to show for your life? Your notebooks … Records of years spent in a room like this …

What’s your study like? Do you have, like, a home office?

We actually have his and her studies. Not quite side by side.

How bourgeois. Mr and Mrs academic … And what do you get up to in your study?

We don’t fuck there, if that’s what you mean. We used to. Once upon a time. Long, long ago. Work for a bit. Call the other in for a fuck. Nice, actually. But a long time ago. But actually, in my study, I devote myself to … learning German.

Is that right?

I’m rather good at it, actually. I’m going to become fluent. I’ll bet you think German’s wasted on me … All the Germanic things I could be reading … I’ll bet you don’t even speak German.

I read it.

But you don’t speak it, and that’s the difference …

You know what: I like you up here. I like you being here. This is where the real drama of your life is. You and your magnum opus, or whatever. Wrestling with its very possibility. Or impossibility. That’s your drama. That’s what’s keeping you alive.

And I like it in you, your determination. I even admire it. I like your intellect. There, I’ve said it. But I do. I like your dedication. I like the fact that you really want to do something. Even if I also like the idea of distracting you from doing anything.

I like your ambition, philosopher. I like your modesty. Because you are modest. I find comical. And charming. And admirable. I like that there might be Important Thoughts in that dome of yours. Which I, no doubt, will never understand.

And you know what else I like? Taking you in hand, philosopher. Touching you. Like this. I like the fact that I can make you think of nothing else but fucking. It turns me on. And I like to be turned on …