Do you know Elysium? – asked Josh.
You mean the tantra massage parlour in Mayfair? – I asked.
No, he said. The blog. Where all those famous philosophers from the past blog about current affairs. Aristotle, Nietzsche, Spinoza …
Nietzsche blogs? – I said.
Well, not in person, obviously, said Josh, but yes, he does, through the psychic.
This is your blog, said Sebastian grimly.
It’s not mine, said Josh.
It’s yours, said Sebastian. Who’re you trying to fool?
No, said Josh, it’s not.
Do you seriously think you can fool me like that? – asked Sebastian. Look, he said, we’ve been together for how long now? Sixteen years? Every morning you bitch about politics. For hours.
I don’t bitch, said Josh, I discuss. I try to discuss it with you. And if you don’t like it …
I know all your opinions, said Sebastian, I know all your exact wording, all your specific turns of phrase. I know it well enough to spot it anywhere. I know it all by heart. And I bloody know that after you unload all those layers of political garbage on me you, in the afternoon, in your best spirits retire to your study and then, shortly after that, I can find all those very same words and phrases used on me in the morning – tried out on me in the morning, without any compunction – I can find them all posted to your blog as if spoken by some famous politician or philosopher, or writer, or whomever your mad fancy chooses to channel what you call your ‘ideas’. I know you well enough to recognise you, my dear, even if you think you’re talking like Leibniz.
… If you don’t like it, said Josh, why don’t you tell me? You could have told me long ago and I’d have only been too happy to oblige you and to release you from this oppressive bond.
Do you really think Nietzsche would support Ed Miliband? – said Sebastian. Seriously?
I don’t know about Nietzsche, I said opening my laptop, but I think that Kierkegaard actually …
If he were alive now he would do just that, said Josh. Do you think he would support your bloody toffs?
No sane person would support your raving lunatics, said Sebastian.
Aristotle would, said Josh.
In your dreams, said Sebastian.
Duns Scotus would, said Josh.
In your dreams, said Sebastian.
God, I said.
What? – asked Sebastian. God would support anyone.
No, I said. I pointed at the screen. Here, I said. Look.
What? – asked Sebastian.
This is the blog, I said. Here is this discussion about Nietzsche and Ed Miliband and who would support whom. It has almost a thousand comments. Oh, no, more than a thousand. Look. It has a thousand comments a day. Three thousand two hundred and sixty two in three days.
Goodness gracious, said Sebastian.
Oh, yes, said Josh. And a sidebar banner is now five hundred pounds a month.
You mean the tantra massage parlour in Mayfair? – I asked.
No, he said. The blog. Where all those famous philosophers from the past blog about current affairs. Aristotle, Nietzsche, Spinoza …
Nietzsche blogs? – I said.
Well, not in person, obviously, said Josh, but yes, he does, through the psychic.
This is your blog, said Sebastian grimly.
It’s not mine, said Josh.
It’s yours, said Sebastian. Who’re you trying to fool?
No, said Josh, it’s not.
Do you seriously think you can fool me like that? – asked Sebastian. Look, he said, we’ve been together for how long now? Sixteen years? Every morning you bitch about politics. For hours.
I don’t bitch, said Josh, I discuss. I try to discuss it with you. And if you don’t like it …
I know all your opinions, said Sebastian, I know all your exact wording, all your specific turns of phrase. I know it well enough to spot it anywhere. I know it all by heart. And I bloody know that after you unload all those layers of political garbage on me you, in the afternoon, in your best spirits retire to your study and then, shortly after that, I can find all those very same words and phrases used on me in the morning – tried out on me in the morning, without any compunction – I can find them all posted to your blog as if spoken by some famous politician or philosopher, or writer, or whomever your mad fancy chooses to channel what you call your ‘ideas’. I know you well enough to recognise you, my dear, even if you think you’re talking like Leibniz.
… If you don’t like it, said Josh, why don’t you tell me? You could have told me long ago and I’d have only been too happy to oblige you and to release you from this oppressive bond.
Do you really think Nietzsche would support Ed Miliband? – said Sebastian. Seriously?
I don’t know about Nietzsche, I said opening my laptop, but I think that Kierkegaard actually …
If he were alive now he would do just that, said Josh. Do you think he would support your bloody toffs?
No sane person would support your raving lunatics, said Sebastian.
Aristotle would, said Josh.
In your dreams, said Sebastian.
Duns Scotus would, said Josh.
In your dreams, said Sebastian.
God, I said.
What? – asked Sebastian. God would support anyone.
No, I said. I pointed at the screen. Here, I said. Look.
What? – asked Sebastian.
This is the blog, I said. Here is this discussion about Nietzsche and Ed Miliband and who would support whom. It has almost a thousand comments. Oh, no, more than a thousand. Look. It has a thousand comments a day. Three thousand two hundred and sixty two in three days.
Goodness gracious, said Sebastian.
Oh, yes, said Josh. And a sidebar banner is now five hundred pounds a month.