Journal

Do you write about me in your journal? Do you write about romance?

Are you in denial about your romance? Don’t you think … fucking redeems it somewhat? I’ll stop tormenting you, philosopher …


You’re a no-mark. A Nothing. No one expects anything of you. So you’ll get your literary revenge. You’ll make your every humiliation count. Cunning, philosopher.


You’re a leech upon ordinary life. You don’t like ordinary life. Only the magnum opus counts for you.

Look who you’re with, philosopher. Are you ashamed? Look how base I am.


Do you learn anything from romance? Do I teach you anything?

High grade philosophical angst.

Better than anything. Better than the world – that’s your excise. You’re in love with your angst, philosophy. No: you’re in love with writing about your supposed angst.


It’s a ruse, philosopher. You’re cheating on life by not writing about us. You’re pretending. You’re writing in bad faith. You’re writing to escape me and to escape us. And all the grim reality of fucking …


It’s a gotcha, philosophy. Alan is so much simpler. Organisational Managers generally. I don’t know whether writing’s any good for anyone.


Who’s going to publish this? What’s it for? It’s not for anyone. Are these your best lines? Like you’re French of something. Like this is 1955. Don’t you think this stuff is done?

Sounds even more ridiculous coming from an Indian.


How do you look at us all? Do you look down on us?

I look up at you.

I don’t believe you. Don’t play all faux-humble with me. Philosophers look down on the world from your lofty intellectual eeries.


There is no philosophy in the bedroom. You want to keep philosophy out of the bedroom. Philosophy’s not allowed in the bedroom.


Women want to be adored, and men admired: do you think that’s true, philosopher? Do you adore me? Are you capable of it, adoration? Then why don’t you write about me?

And do you think I admire you, philosopher? Do you think I should write about you?


I think you take me for granted, philosopher. That’s what my absence from your journals says: you take me or granted. I’m as replaceable as a machine part …