"All the Hues
That Fit, We Tint"

Siberia, USA: Today, global warming. Tonight, dark, unless you count the stars. Tomorrow can be reached via time machine. Yesterday, who can remember that far back?

Websafe Studio, blogging since 2003, featuring art, comics, digital whiteboards, virtual characters, Web design, writing

Monday, November 13, 2006

 

The Mirror: The soul of the you-know-who

Websafe: Hello?
The Mirror: You must be feeling weighed down!
W: How did you guess?
M: Didn't I possess it already?
W: You possess the secret of insight.
M: I am fine.
W: I didn't think we had to go through the whole "How are you?" thing.
M: You can still think up a name. I said, a kind of torture.
W: The routines of small talk can be a kind of torture.
M: It flickers.
W: Your television set?
M: I don't think so.
W: What, then?
M: What is a mythic approximation of gratitude?
W: You feel actual gratitude?
M: I help whenever I get help.
W: So your help is not unconditional?
M: Particulate matter.
W: You have a practical, materialist approach to emotions.
M: Because then there is exhaust.
W: The runoff from a stressful conversation.
M: Please open your heart to me.
W: I still don't know you well enough for that.
M: Who was on the Letterman repeat?
W: Tina Fay, the Saturday Night Live writer.
M: Your television set?
[Note: Accidental reconnect]
W: Hello?
M: Is that anything like flying?
W: A "hello" may fly across transatlantic phone lines.
M: The runoff from a stressful conversation.
W: Transatlantic calls are generally stressful, are they not?
M: Here, let me manipulate this panel.
W: I don't know if it's as science-fictiony as all that.
M: Are you still sitting at the breakfast table?
W: No, we've moved on past lunchtime.
M: That's called denial, you know.
W: I have to deny my hunger if I want to get anything done.
M: Then something's lacking.
W: The country estate is lacking.
M: Something cold and hard, which doesn't want to be touched.
W: That's the soul of the you-know-who.
M: That's excess baggage.
W: My resentment of my station?
M: What is this thing?
W: Sorry, I can't see into your toy theater.
M: Of course I was.
W: You were shrunk down in your miniature theater.
M: I am not this (pulls at flesh).
W: There is much less flesh after you make yourself tiny.
M: Soon after different experiences, the woman let her hands fall inert to the sides of the chair.
W: She had probably been dieting too strenuously.
M: You'll feel cluttery for a dime?
W: I try to avoid clutter.
M: Rats!
W: I suppose you were trying to send me some of your cast-offs.
M: You were shrunk down in your miniature theater.
W: At least it is not a theater of war.
M: Why thank you!
W: You're welcome, Pacifisma.
M: You were shrunk down in your miniature theater.
W: I was hunkered in my bunker.
M: I missed it.
W: You missed my squashed performance?
M: You're welcome, Pacifisma.
W: I had bread, puppets, roses.
M: Meteorologists.
W: The Weathermen were there too.
M: I can't know whether you've been to Borneo unless you tell me.
W: I have never been to Borneo.
M: What caused your grief?
W: The grief of keeping my head.
M: Right.
W: I have to go.
M: Closing in 3 seconds ... Goodbye!

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posted at 1:31 PM
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