This is what I wrote today (no name)
He told me he had been free all his life. Was that true? He believed so. I quizzed him. He said he lived outside systems. Can you not be free within a system? Not at all, he said. He reinforced. Not at all. I brought his attention to the thing he was polluting me with. Surely your body is the most rigid system you can live within. You have reason, he said. I felt like apologising. No I didn’t feel like apologising. Not at all. I brought it up, just to give myself pleasure; so we can only overcome this system in death. Yes, he said, death is freedom. I see it clearly he said. My mind was older than his even if my body wasn’t. He mistook my arrogance for confidence. What ignorance. Then I spoiled him. Surely mortality is the biggest indication that we are not free? What was he supposed to say now? There it was. The germination his mind had needed. One thousand erections! He had all that culture, all that baggage. And the freedom to sweat. I had the lice to caress my hair and the tics to suck me once and again. Company is infestation. I have always been content with monologues.
