Helmut, headphones on.
He’s listening to Heidegger lectures.
He doesn’t understand German.
Heidegger had a very high voice, apparently. Sounds like a castrati, apparently. (Mouthing at Helmut:) LIKE A CASTRATI, MOTHERFUCKER!
We need a light to guide us. We need a star of Bethlehem.
And, as if by magic …
Helmut! You’re back!
A mini Heidegger. A pet Heidegger. Heidegger with all the Heidegger taken out.
Before you’d taken your Heideggerian vows.
Before you’d landed on planet seriousness.
Was there really an ontoerotic draft of Being and Time?
Heidegger cut all the sex bits.
Too bad.
There were sex bits, weren’t there, Helmut?
No sex bits.
It was the ontoeroteric draft. And eroteric is like, what?
Not erotic.
Too bad.
Maybe we should fake one: an ontoerotic draft. Just add dirty things into Being and Time. Like Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Except we’d be adding filth.
Genius move! The making of us!
Cicero always told us to write Europorn, do you remember?
Why didn’t she write it?
She said it was for the young. And that she couldn’t remember sex.
You’re still in mourning for the lost sense that you might be a genius. Which means that you somehow still have the hope that you might be a genius.
You’re in your mid thirties, Helmut – you’ve given it long enough! Fact it, Helmut – it’s not going to happen!
Embrace your stupidity. Put on your dunce’s cap.
We’ve been through it, the whole mourning your possible genius thing. We’ll help you through it.
We need entertainment – even Heideggerian entertainment. What did Heidegger do for kicks?
Volleyball, I heard. Him and Gadamer.
Or was it badminton? That’s a more Heideggerian sport.
Had badminton been invented then?
It has ancient roots.
Seriousness is not for us, Helmut. We haven’t earnt it. We don’t deserve it.
And it wasn’t just Division 1 Being and Time stuff that interested you, like those fucking Yanks. Late Heidegger: that’s your thing. Deep Heidegger where he goes all mystical.
What was Cicero’s view of Heidegger?
Not Jewish enough. She referred Rosenzweig.
Helmut’s doing tragic grandeur. Tragedy’s not for us, motherfucker. Even our tragedy is comedy.
Helmut, headphones on. Take off your cans.
He can’t hear you. He’s listening to Schubert, or something.
Schubert won’t help him. Or any of us.
You have a tragic future. Double tragic. Tragic because it’s comic.
Trying to Heidegger it. To Heidegger your way through life. Doing your Heidegger thing. But you can’t.
Face it, we’re only taking the piss because we’ve got nothing better to do. Nothing better to say. Because we’ve got empty heads – even emptier than yours.
Helmut’s never gotten over having to study Heidegger at Scunthorpe University. I‘m sure Scunthorpe have never got over it either.
You hate yourself a) because you’re not Heidegger, b) because you’ll never be Heidegger.
Lighten up, glum-glum. You’re not going to kill yourself, are you?
Heidegger's only good for laughs now.
Work in Progress 