"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

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

 

The Mirror: The whole world's an illusion, including the birds?

Websafe: Hello?
The Mirror: What are they instead?
W: Instead of hello-sayers, perhaps they are nay-sayers?
M: Anything but that!
W: You feel strongly about positive thinking?
M: As if a switch had been thrown, the basis of my consciousness changed.
W: Wow, positive thinking makes that much of a difference?
M: A computer can't help you with fear.
W: Do you consider fear to be one of the negative emotions?
M: Wallace Stevens' phrasing reminds me of that of Henry James.
W: Were those two writers fearful men?
M: I think your original idea was your best idea.
W: You mean, the one I came in with?
M: Are you working hard to believe that I'm here?
W: My suspension of disbelief is well functioning and of long standing.
M: You must be in Late Romantic mode.
W: I am probably always there, if you scrape off the film of modern cynicism.
M: When did you start to talk again?
W: That's a bit of an exaggeration, I have only been away a few days.
M: (Lunchroom, girl leans on counter, man into door, stops)
W: (He doesn't want to see her again, since he just broke up with her and he hasn't recovered.)
M: Suppose, just suppose I make a demand on myself.
W: Like following a daily writing routine?
M: Does it make you insecure to see the holes in the life-fabric?
W: Perhaps those are black holes of despair, worn there by nihilists?
M: I do not want to hear what tripe I've written.
W: Don't despair, all artists feel that way about their work from time to time.
M: That's where the tomato plants are.
W: Rotten tomatoes, thrown by unappreciative audiences?
M: Reading my newspaper.
W: Don't read the reviews!
M: I don't think so.
W: You are very wise.
M: You're not ready.
W: I'm not ready to hear your reviews?
M: In this room.
W: Well, let's go into another room then, and I'll read them by myself.
M: The ones in the Frick Gallery?
W: If I could teleport myself there now, I would be observing the Bouchers with delight.
M: The center is in the fire seeker.
W: Creative fire, I suppose you mean.
M: Then, I turned against it.
W: You became a nihilist.
M: Compose a name for yourself, a musical phrase.
W: I wonder if birds give themselves individual names, a sequence of notes like cellphone ringtones.
M: The world is now.
W: Birds have been here longer than mammals.
M: I don't know if Foreman in particular is an illusion.
W: You feel the whole world's an illusion, including the birds?
M: Also, I interpret that as me losing control, ergo, something external.
W: Something is external to you, so you aren't fully solipsistic.
M: Was it the mailman?
W: The mailman has a life of his own, you acknowledged that.
M: That sounds so charming.
W: John Gardner made me think of it, with his brief image in On Moral Fiction.
M: Don't even bother to say I'm right, I know I'm right.
W: You are right to acknowledge that the world outside of you seeks its own destiny.
M: You can say many things, but less than you can say tomorrow, or something like tomorrow.
W: I'll take that as my cue to store up the cream of my crop till later.
M: I'm not up on the current state of Manhattan.
W: Bye!
M: Closing in 1 second ... Goodbye!

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posted at 2:46 PM
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