Postpsuedomodernesque

I write things down. Sometimes they can be funny, sometimes they are sad. Most times they are pretentious and other times they are false.

Literary Insightfully Analytical Nonsense

"Honey, Dollface, Bird, Love.?" I sat up and lightly tapped Alison’s shoulder. "I just had the most peculiar dream."  

Alison sat up and gave me the look that always follows that sentence. A word of advice, unless the dream involves the second party no one cares to hear of it. Even then only if you are killing, maiming or screwing said party.

"Yes"

"Okay well in this dream, this very interesting dream, Hemmingway is standing inside of a boxing ring smoking a cheap cigar with his knuckles taped. He keeps taunting Tim O’brien, just a slew of insults that I would only repeat in crasser company. Tim’s just taking it looking at Hemmingway like he’s the biggest asshole, which of course, he is. Ringside there’s this little brown table, you know like the kind we saw at the consignment shop but nicer. One of those Art-Deco numbers that more pretintious [Allison scoffs] …more pretentious men might call understated. 

"Well?"

"Calm down. At this table is William S. Burroughs, Salinger and David Foster Wallace their all playing cards or dominoes or something I can’t remember. Get this. There’s a fat black woman playing with them humming something and being all wise and stereotypical. Honestly, I’d call myself a racist if is was my conscious and not my subconscious coming up with this stuff."

"Is there any point to all this?"

"It gets better, or you know, more interesting. CA Conrad, Tao Lin, and I are all standing in the corner wrapping masking tape around our genitals and debating over which looks more like a turn of the century psychoanalyst. What do you think this all means"

Alison sits even straighter up and looks me in my eyes. “It means that on your first page you’ve exhausted all of your contrived and frankly predictable literal allusions in an attempt to become associated with men far more prolific and talented than yourself.”

"Well, shit"

"There’s something worse"

"What could be worse than that?"

"You’ve now become too meta and broken the fourth wall far too early. You’re all out of easily understood gimmicks."

"Then what should I do?"

"Stop playing this game and fucking write something."

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