I said, ” What do you mean you hate circus?”
He said, “You know… everything these days is circus…. The old Marxist thing: bread and circus.”
“But,” I said. “This is actual circus… not a metaphor, but real circus.”
He said, “Oxymoron.”
I said, “Don’t call me a moron.”
He said, “I didn’t… It’s a phrase… oh fuck it, you’re a moron.”
I said, “Dick.”
“What?,” He said. “I’m Miserable… What do you want from me? I hate circus. All these people hanging by a thread…. Don’t you see? We’re all hanging by a thread.”
What?,” I said. “That’s what makes it beautiful… the ACTUAL thread hanging… but I guess that’s a metaphor.”
He said,” I’m miserable…. Forgive me.”
I said, “Why?”
He said, “Why not?”
“How’s the blog going?” I asked.
“Haven’t you read it?” he asked.
“I always loved it. It was so funny, the way you talked about your life… aren’t you writing it anymore,” I asked.
“Isn’t that the way?,” he asked.
“What?,” I asked.
“You haven’t read it and I’m sick as shit about the whole thing. Blogtropy,” he said.
“What?”
“There is this place where you are writing about all the wonderful things you see and think and blogging it and then suddenly you are spending so much time writing about the things that you see and think that you spend less and less time seeing and thinking about anything… Who wants to read that?”
“Today I woke up and wrote my blog?”
“Exactly… that is blogtropy… it’s like entorpy only much, much more personal.”
I said, “Everything is changing, but nothing’s going anywhere.”
“Now I hear the music… I hate the circus,” he said.
“I like bread,” I said.
