Signifyin’ Mother…
After a fitful sleep I couldn’t return to Dreamsville.
Poor kid. Something on that limited mind of yours?
You mean my imagination?
I mean your short-sighted imagination.
Very funny.
Something bothering you?
Not really sure. You know.
Uh-huh. I think I see.
Was it Gurdjieff who wrote Conversations With Myself?
Nelson Mandela.
Was that behind bars or something?
Is that an actually question?
I don’t know, I was thinking about things… about people.
Annnd? So? What about ‘em?
Not really sure. You know.
I think you’re trying to tell me something. I just don’t know what it is.
Stop trying to be funny.
Funny. I see. So, then, what is all this–guilt… or a conscience?
When I was a kid, we used to call what you’re doin’ “signifyin’”
I remember–yeah, signifyin’. A New York thing.
So, stop signifyin’, mother fucker.
Listen to you…
Listen to me…
After the life that you lived??
Because of the life that I lived.
I see… turns out Jesse James is against robbing banks.
What the hell are you talking about?
I’m trying to be figurative… what the hell are you talking about?
Not really sure. You know.
You reach a certain age, you become pathetic?
Certain? It’s certainly not intentional.
Doesn’t matter.
Okay… what does?
Look, you’re still here.
What does that mean?
Means that someday you’ll actually have eternity to worry about the eternal.
That’s supposed to be funny, right.
I don’t know. Is it funny?
Just sounds like more signifyin’.
