I think I was having a conversation witha freind of mine, Sarah Goodchild Robb in New York one day. We, I think, had gotten out of a lecture.
I asked, something like, "What wss the deal with Descartes?" "Let's be Seinfeld with philosophy." "I mean what was he really doing when he came up with the cogito?" "He said he was sitting in front of the fire. He was probably really bored."
"Yeah, man!" She said, "He was probably like: it's really f'ing cold out! I'll just drink..."
"Satan was cold too, right? I mean Dante's Inferno, block of ice cold. Remember Andy Harris wrote that essay about where zombies would fit in?"
"I didn't know that."
"Where were they?"
"I dunno, I mean they're everywhere right?" "But like what was Descartes doing? He was probably asking himself the same question right? What is it that I'm doing here?" "I'm thinking, yes. Oh, but I've got thisnterrible couch-lock! But I'm here. Ok, maintain, maintaim. I subsist. I more than subsist; I EXIST! thank GAAD, I EXIST!" Reaches for drink.
"He probably was like: alright, alright, let's figure this shit out right now!"
"Yeah, figure that shit out, man!"
"He probably tuckered himself out too; drank a little too quickly and fell asleep."
"What would ge dream about?"
"I don't know. He was bored and lonely. Maybe he wanted to go to the theater. See some Shakespeare."
"Poor Renee, he needed a freind."
"He might have woken up to a noise, maybe it was windy. 'What was that!? Hark! (Remember, he was just at the theater.) Too wintery for bears...maybe a wolf?' He leaned into the fire listening for some animal grumblings, maybe a howl. As he leaned further, and his face came closer to the fire, who did he see, but John Locke laughing at him uproariously. 'Fuck!' Yelled Renee, jerking his head up, hitting it on a pot, and then singing his eye-brows. John continued to laugh and asked, 'For spirits or demons?' 'Fuck you, John! I am the steward of this divine provenance! You see: my table is bare!' Renee was then both injured and hungry and his kitchen table really was empty. He was still drunk and frustrated, and went for the door. Once stepped outside, though cold and a bit gusty, it had stopped snowing. He looked towards the stable and saw a shadowy figure. 'A centaur!' He shrieked with fright. "Mon diu!Ma ciel! Ma ma!!!" He kept yelling.The centaur let out a war cry and Renee took a couple steps back. He was a bit wobbly and couldnt see well, 'Is that a spear or a joust?' He grabbed a candle douser. 'En guard..?' He stifled, meek and confused, but with a little courage. And thought to centaur to charge. That's when he lost his shit and started running, like full sprint down the road, yelling "Policia! Policia!!"
He was so drunk and overheated, though well cloathed, he stopped along the road to catch his breath, stooping over, hands on his knees. He smelled tobacco and saw a stream of smoke puff from behind him. Renee slowly turned around and saw the most monstrous face of a minataur. So frightening, so ready for carnage, but he was smiling, and holding a golf-club. "You don't look very happy, monsieur," he said frankly and a little disappointed. Renee grasped his chest, threw up a little in his mouth, and fainted into a hallowed out tree, where he slept untill sunrise. A patrolman woke him up the next day. He had a big bushy moustache, said, 'Get it together, man! ' He gave the horse a pat, and was about to aboard, but the officer bristled a bit. 'Don't touch Brunhilda!' He shouted. You walk.'
He haf such a hangover, and was so dazed and confused, he might have found out that God was just as cruel as his little demon of the hearth..."
"Yeah," she said, "Maybe he just wanted to look at the brighter side..."
"I guess, but truth be told, he may have bern the first Frenchman to commit 'menta-side'...I mean he literally almost 'bored himself to death'!"
"What do you think? (I mean forgive the bravado.)"
(What the F!)
"Where'd you get it?"
"I don't know, Andy... Wait, no. Chris and I had kind of a tete a tete. More of a repartee...in class. We didn't get to play it out."
"He had a beard. He had, or someone gave him, the 'Magic Hat'!"
"I don't know. The 'Magic Hat', an upper classman has to hand it down, and you can decorate it id you want. Chris had it with a feather, and he gave it to Jamie who put some sea-shells on it."
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know, I never knew him that well. I heard he went back to a farm somewhere. He came from a farming family. I was always kind of pissed that I didn't get the hat. I mean, he told me I was a nominee or some shit. Oh right, then he gave it to Ned. I didn't have enough discipline."
"Yeah, I never liked those guys, I mean the philosophers...Always thought they were kind of boring."
[Sorry, Chris. Didn't want to have to get all that detail. Come under enough nonsense, why I hashtagged you. But it sounds better this way anyway.]
"Yeah, but what about Baudrillard? And you speak French..."
"He was the best for my thesis. Maybe I'll go to Germany or Spain..."
We both chuckled a bit and headed to the train.
#descartes #slipstream #flashfiction #truestory #humor #philosophy #draft