Mhm… mmm… uh… uh-huh…

 

We went through a bottle of vodka and three glasses of beer with our friend F.

F is red faced “Let us talk about something interesting!” he proclaims, slamming a fist down on the table.

“You got this,” M whispers to me before excusing himself to the bathroom.

“Something interesting?” I ask F.

He nods again, with a hard frown. “I want to talk about interesting things.”

There is a silence. I take a sip of my beer and think. F begins to list off things he finds interesting.

“Poetry, literature, physics…”

Many of them I know a little about.

I open my mouth, to say something, something fascinating, I’m sure of it.

As I do, I hear a plop. A few droplets of liquid splash onto my chin. I look down through the amber fizzles of my beer and see my tongue sitting at the bottom.

I look back at F. His face is getting redder and redder as he lists of the things he finds interesting, waiting for me to participate.

I nod vigorously and try to say something, but only manage a gargled moan.

I slip two fingers into the glass and try to fish out my tongue.

“History, mathematics, economics…” F continues.

My tongue is flat and soggy at the bottom of the deep glass. My fingers barely graze the top of it. I go for a fork laying on the table. I continue to nod and make gargling sounds in the hopes that it seems I am simply waiting for my moment.

I dip the fork in and drag the tongue half-way to the surface. It slides off and floats to the bottom. I don’t want to stab it. I try to pull it up with the fork then grab it with my fingers.

“You treacherous little fucker.” I try to say, only managing a mumble.

I nearly snag it, but the glass is too narrow and I almost knock it over.

Finally, I pick up the glass and, hesitating only a moment, chug it down. The tongue slides into my mouth, past its stop, and down my throat. I nearly gag.

“Philosophy, do you know anything about philosophy!?” F snaps his attention back to me.

“Uh-huh,” I manage, drooling a bit from the corner of my mouth.

 

 

 

9 comments

  1. […] In the picture, it’s a little hard to see the pigeons clearly.  They almost kind of blend in with the leaves.  But I think that was an intentional part of the aesthetic they were going for.  It’s a poetics of invisibility.  Their sounds also almost disappear into the fabric of the surrounding sonic environment.  You might not even notice them when you first start listening.  That’s what makes it so interesting. […]

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