What if you received a death sentence?
I’d like a death sentence. I’d like it that things weren’t going to go on forever. I’d like to be told I had a year to live. Or six months at most. Wouldn’t you?
What would you do with your six months?
What would I do?
Do you have a bucket list, philosopher?
What do you think?
To think the greatest thought? To write a genius book? Something to which you could bend all your efforts? Which they’d issue after your death … That would justify your entire existence. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?
What would you do?
Go travelling, maybe. See the Taj Mahal again. Seeing all the things I’d wanted to see. I don’t know. Reaffirm my wedding vows with Alan. Get him to take a sabbatical and rediscover each other as lovers. I’m joking, philosopher.
I wouldn’t actually mind a death sentence, now I think about. It’d lend a kind of urgency to everything. And things would mean more, wouldn’t they? Did you ever watch Dead Poet’s Society? Seize the day and all that. Carpe fucking diem.
Experiences, philosopher. I’d want to have experiences. What kind of experiences would you like?
Adventurous ones.
So you’d be bungee jumping? Parascending? Experiencing free fall? Seeing the earth from space?
Or I’d just go on holiday. Lots of holidays.
I’ll bet your really good at being on holiday. At luxuriating.
Luxuriating. You have me worked out, philosopher. You understand me.
Why are you here? What do you want from me? What can I possibly give you?
Experiences, philosopher. The affair experience. The fucking illicitly experience. The philosophy experience. Why not?
I think things should become more urgent. I think we should raise things to a… pitch. I think things should be lived at the edge of death.
You should take up skydiving. Or bullfighting.
There should be some risk, shouldn’t there? I like risk. I like going around in secret. I like affairs. I like this affair.
I don’t think we should take it for granted, life.
Are we taking it for granted?
Does Alan take you for granted?
No. He gives me compliments. Tells me I’m beautiful. He’s a good cheerleader.
A good cheerleader. Poor Alan.
Yes, poor Alan. And poor me. And poor you, probably. We human beings are quite pitiful.
Work in Progress 