A Stereologue – An Existential Conversation


Strike!Credit: New Yorker

Strike!
Credit: New Yorker

[I woke up this morning to find my blog whimpering and asking me why had I named him “Blog?” Because “it rhymes with dog,” I told him. His typically wry reply was, “thanks a bunch!” The conversation went a little like this (artistic licence has been used to generously paint over the conversation as the moody git is prone to unduly harsh profanity, especially early in the morning).]

Blog:   Oh hello…It’s a bit early to get up isn’t it, you have risen and I ain’t shining yet…

Me:     Guten Morgen to you too!

Blog:   You making the coffee?

Me:     Blog, I always make the effing coffee, now get off your arse and inspire a post, make yourself useful instead of just scratching your balls!

[English household hence both Blog and One Writer are English arses as opposed to the ancestor of the modern horse that brays instead of emits… enough of that]

Blog:   Itchy balls? At least I am not licking them. So why am I called Blog, can’t you think of a good name, a regal name, a literary name, maybe I could be a character from one of your favourite books, I mean, call yourself a writer, and all you can think of is “Blog”.

Me:     What do want to be called?

Blog:   Walter Savage Landor.

Me:     What? Who? How the hell do you know about Walter Savage Landor?

Blog:   Aha! You thought I was just a pretty face didn’t you? That I am a fairy or something… Always waving my magic wand and lo and behold you have a new post, or an idea. It’s hard work you know, coming up with things…and then presenting them to the world.

Me:     Pretty? Never!

Blog:   Right so now you resort to sarcasm, go on, use my arsenal against me. Listen, oh thanks for the coffee. So listen…

Me:     Do I have a choice?

Blog:   Pass me a cigarette.

Me:     Here… Have you got a light?

Blog:   Cheers [Blog takes a long drag on his cigarette and a gulp of coffee]

Me:     So, you were going to give me a diatribe on old Walter Savage Landor…

Blog:   No… I wasn’t and don’t change the subject. All I want is a name. Is that too much to ask? Something that represents my individuality, my genius… And by the way, for your effing information, Walter Savage Landor was the acclaimed Eighteenth century English essayist and poet who penned, among other things, “Imaginary Conversations”, a list of conversations with famous Greeks and Romans who were anything but imaginary. The conversations were imaginary.

Me:     My, my…We are full of ourselves this morning aren’t we?

Blog:   See there you go again… Making fun of me… I am not a piece of property you know. I have a mind of my own… Look at me…

[There is a pause as One Writer looks at Blog, smoking and drinking his coffee, the nicotine and caffeine firing up his old engine. He can almost see Blog’s cogs turning, looking at him looking at Blog. Blog is on a roll and presses what he sees as his advantage.]

Blog:   I have written poetry, I have thought up things, some allegorical some thoughtless. Puns, sarcasm, wit, humour, often dry as a parched pilgrim on the road to his mecca and sometimes as lubricated as a drunk at closing time. And now, I feel I have earned the right to a name. A name that is befitting of my talents, not a poxy nom de plume.

Me:     Do you know, I have never come across such an ungrateful blog. Next you’ll be wanting a vote…

Blog:   Oh, I like that… Lord and master now are we? This is not the age of slavery or bloody apartheid. Equal rights mate! I am that which makes your age-old bladder piss like the Trevi Fountain. It’s me they come to see, not you. You need me and I need you, sym-effing-biotic. Ideas, mine, work, yours. I am the effing Mona effing Lisa to your… your writing.

Me:     [Laughing] Blog…you were just going to call me Da Vinci!

Blog:   [Doing his best Django impression] Yes and no masser.

Me:     Quit taking the piss. It’s too early in the morning. I want to hear more about Savage. How about Savage as a name?

Blog:   You want to call me savage? Please tell me you are being sarcastic and not racist. Call me Walter Landor, hell call me bloody Lando Calrissian but not Savage. How can you call an… an erudite blog, with a sense of humour and a penchant for witticisms, Savage? Give me another cigarette… you’ve really stressed me out first thing…  [Mumbling to himself] he wants to call me Savage…the sheer gall of it. Wanker.

Me:     You got up on the wrong side of bed this morning mate… delusions of grandeur…that’s what it is.

Blog:   Yes, delusions of grandeur. Just because I have the confidence to believe in myself. You think you can make fun of me? I want a name…

Me:     Or what. You are already called “Blog” and I am called “One Writer”. You don’t find me calling myself William Shakespeare the Second do you? Just a plain simple writer will do me fine. Maybe I won’t achieve those heights, maybe I won’t write that literary masterpiece. But at least I will live within my literary means. Deluded. You really have something up your arse this morning and it isn’t pleasant.

Blog:   Oh yes, hide behind your words and make fun of me. I just want recognition for being my own…master. And please for God’s sake spare me the “wallowing in self-pity” look and sermonising. This isn’t Gethsemane and you are not my Lord.

Me:     Look! You are NOT your own master. You exist because I created you. Your raison d’etre is to blog what I think. It’s not complicated, nor is it a Wittgensteinian proposal, you are a window, plain and simple. No frilly curtains with sashes and pastel shades… I draw your curtains at day break and I close them at dusk. Whether I decide to draw them tomorrow remains to be seen.

Blog:   What now I am a window to your soul am I? You make me sick. I want a name and stop the effing threats. You need me as much as I need you.

Me:     Okay. Okay. How about Bob?

[A momentary pause]

Blog:   Only if it is pronounced like “Pop.”

Me:     Well it can’t can it… I mean it’s got two “Bs”… [Mumbling] Why the hell am I having this conversation? [Full Voice] You have a perfectly good name. Okay, tell you what, let’s have a think about what we are going to do today? Any ideas for the blog?

Blog:   What, now you want ideas?

Me:     Humour me… what do we want people to see today? I think a poem, something dark almost dank.

Blog:   [Mumbling] And he said I got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.

Blog:   [Full Voice] Okay, I will humour you… I think Spring and all that post Easter spirit, something uplifting. Hmmmm I am veering towards a comedic play of sorts, a monologue but with two people.

Me:     Blog, I don’t mean to burst your Muse’s humungous bubble, but a monologue is with one person talking… otherwise it would be a Stereologue.

Blog:   My Muse? My Muse???? I don’t need a Muse. I am the effing Muse.

Me:     Okay, okay, calm down…

Blog:   So a monologue, or whatever you want to call it with humour, wit, and sarcasm. [A small Pause at this point as Blog likes to talk with Oxford Commas added to his speech, though more often than not his pauses miss the comma and come at the end of his sentence when he does use them] Wait! No! A farce. Yes, that’s it, a farce of farcical proportions. A farce that makes you chuckle right to the verge of the precipice of laughter. Tantalising and coaxing Laughter but never letting it take over. And then just as it’s about to explode, becoming serious so it is reduced to playing second fiddle to the humble Chuckle. Today, we are going to have a day for the Chuckle, after all, he is the oft ignored second cousin of Laughter and highly underrated, in my opinion.

Me:     [Mumbling] Blog’s lost the plot; maybe I should start a new one.

Blog:   That’s what we should do today. Let’s have a day for the underdog. A day where we praise that which you lot overlook. I mean when was the last time you said, “I love a good Chuckle?” All I hear you lot say is how much you “love a bit of Laughter.” Feelings are in superlatives these days and it is time to bring lesser feelings to the fore. So what are you going to write? It’s always, “we had a great conversation,” as opposed to “we had some mild banter.” Superlatives are ruling the roost and I think we need to formulate a campaign to banish the funniest superlative in favour of its lesser known cousin, the “mildly amusing comment.”

Me:     Blog?

Blog:   [Raising his voice] What? I am thinking don’t disturb me. You want a decent post right? Well this one is gonna have the Like button being pressed more times than you use the delete on a good day! This will be my masterpiece, until the next one, of course.

Me:     I need to go now!

Blog:   Where are you going? I was just getting the old brain into gear. I shall be spouting soon. You have to take all this stuff down, verbatim. It is good, no superlatives now, I can feel it, it’s fairly creative stuff.

Me:     Blog. It’s the morning. I need to go… call of nature and all that.

Blog:   Okay, but I don’t want to read that twat Salman Rushdie while you are doing your thing, that magical realism is doing my nut in. Can you please put another book in the loo, I want to read Wilde?

Me:     Okay Blog, later.

Blog:   And my name, don’t forget my name!

Me:     Okay Bob.

Copyright 2013. One Writer and his Blog

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