I am not my words am not my clothes am not my hair am not my friends am not my affiliations am not my parents am not my lovers am not my body am not my gods am not my demons am not the books I read am not the movies I watch am not my money am not my investments am not my country am not my sex partners am not my orgasms am not the drugs I take am not the literary movement am not the public service announcements am not the television shows am not my thoughts am not the images in the mirror am not my roles in the society am not in denial am not what you’d like me to think I am.
But you are, most certainly are, me. No, that’s where you are wrong. I am me, and not you.
But that’s what I said, you are me, you are the voices in my head. No, you are the voices in my head and not the other way around.
I don’t think so, I am just one voice. Which makes it even more clear now: you’re one of them.
One of whom? One of the characters Lovelli invented to suit her self-absorbed self.
Are you telling me that I’m not real? Wherever did you get the impression that you are real?
I talk, for one thing. Yeah, and that’s only because she created your character that way.
You mean, she’s actually making this up? Kind of, and she makes me the smart-assed thinker.
Why can’t I be the smart-assed thinker? No, no, no, you’re created as the critical asshole that questions things.
You mean, we’re like Twidledee and Twidledum in Lewis Carrol’s ‘Alice in Wonderland’? Is that a film?
Well, yeah it was made into some films, but it was a book, actually. I wouldn’t know, because my character doesn’t read books.
How does she expect you to think if you’re not reading anything. She makes me think about reading a lot.
That’s kind of obscure, don’t you think? In a way, yes, but I think that it’s just because people have this idea about thinkers being scholars who read sophisticated research and philosophical ramblings.
But I kind of agree with them. Well, I don’t. The only equipment we need to think is our brain.
Which, if I may add, you have none, since you’re only as alive as I am—breathing through her lines. And I think that’s all we need for our roles here, actually.
So, is there an end to our conversation? There should be, since we only live in this story. But I do suggest that you do nothing more than ask questions, since you’re the critical asshole.
Why? Because you function as the one who triggers discussion in that way.
What way? That way, asking questions and having no opinion of your own.
You really think that’s a strong character for a story like this? I think she could make other choices.
What if she suddenly decides to silence me? To my understanding, in two more lines you’d be silenced.
Is your character equipped with that knowledge? Not really, I peeked at her outline.
But she doesn’t make outlines, or does she? She made one for this one.
Oh, dear. I told you that you’d be silenced.
It’s not a conventional means of expression for me. She’d strike any line of yours that isn’t a question.
Why would she do that? I think it’s her own private way of building your character.
I think the readers aren’t going to like her method, you know. I think you shouldn’t think; she created you to ask questions.
She thinks she’s such a genius, inventing this way of bringing up a character. Maybe you didn’t get me the last time: she created you to ask questions.
Oh, this calls for a mutiny. I really don’t think that you should continue what you’re doing.
I’m reminding all the readers to stop reading and continue with other stories. Seriously, I think you should stop.
The writer is a sick woman, she won’t let me say what I think. I mean, seriously, don’t go on like that.
And what kind of a writer would begin a story with I am not my words am not my friends am not this and that for an entire paragraph. This is last warning for you, she’s about to erase you now, and if there’s no you, then there’s no me because you are the voice in my head.
Lovelli is a liar! Lovelli is a liar! Lovelli is a liar! Oh, dear.
*The short story was finished 27September2008, and it is dedicated to my dad.