I'm worried about your psychic integrity after this whole incident in which Rex Young murdered your bird in such a Dostoevskian manner. You must be asking yourself again: how am I any different from a character in a novel, or how do I have any existence apart from words words words? Perhaps you even recognize the power of Dostoevsky's own "fictional words" over Rex's "real actions". I need to have some access to your reaction to the fact that reality and fiction have blurred even further in your mind to the point where you hardly trust the words your mind uses to represent your mind's own lack of trust in the words it uses to represent its own lack of trust in its... as you can see, I've been talking to Rex, but I want you to see that he's... well... he's... trying?:
-Dr. Jay
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JAY: Enter.
REX: Don’t say it.
JAY: I’m sorry?
REX: …
JAY: Very well then, let’s see. You must be… Mr. …
REX: Dr. Jay, I presume?—Damnit!
JAY: Mr. … Young! Is something wrong, Mr. Young?
REX: Damnit. I knew I was going to say that. And I knew that—
JAY: I’m sorry Mr. Young, you knew that you were going to say what?
REX: The ironic Livingstone quip: ‘Dr. Jay, I presume?’ I knew I was going to say that when I walked in here. And I knew I was going to react cynically to my having said it. And I knew I was going to engage in this recursively self-referential, desperately ironic, if not somewhat honest, but ultimately self-gratifyingly-epithetical self-remonstration after my cynical reaction. And (I could keep going) but I need help.
JAY: I see. Yes, I see.
REX: This is my problem.
JAY: Yes. I can definitely help you with your problem, Mr. Young. Now—well, before we get started with your breakthrough (and I can see that a breakthrough is certainly, very near)—before we actually get started I just need to address one … well, pecuniary matter, if you please—
REX: Oh, come on! Are you fucking kidding me? How am I supposed not to respond cynically to that. See? This is cynical. This is my fucking problem. Damnit!
JAY: Yes, I … see. I was … Yes, I was hoping for that response. Very good. Yes…
REX: Jesus! How am I going to stop being cynical if you keep feeding me bullshit! “I was hoping for that.” Bullshit. THIS is my problem.
JAY: Wonderful. Just what I was hoping for. You see, Mr. Young, every time I say something that seems worthless and bullshit and a complete waste of your money you have the opportunity to decide whether or not to respond cynically. Here. This is an opportunity.
REX: …
JAY: See?
REX: ‘See?’ Are you serious? This is a joke right? ‘See?’ Give me a fucking break. See. See me make a pecuniary matter out of your pretty, little quack face. See.
JAY: Interesting. When was the last time you made love?
REX: What? I know what you’re doing and I’m not going to say it but I have to say it because if I don’t say it then I’m not acknowledging it which, after fourteen-or-so more steps of logic, would render life meaningless. Ok, I’m going to say it. But you understand that I’m only saying it because I have to say it, right?
JAY: It’s been that lo—
REX: You asked me when I last made love because you knew it would elicit an ironic-slash-cynical response which itself would elicit a self-referential—I don’t even know what ironic-slash-cynical means anymore. Fucking words. This is worthless. I used to be a great writer you know.
JAY: Irony is not your problem, Mr. Young.
REX: “says the psychiatrist ironically.”
JAY: Your problem is that you haven’t yet considered … well, compensating me to divulge certain, maybe useful—I’m not suggesting anything technically unethical here—certain useful information about the object of your … frustration.
REX: Lenore?
JAY: It would be absolutely, fully confidential, of course.
REX: I used to be a great writer. I used to know how not to care about women. What the fuck has happened me?
JAY: …a very reasonable fee…
REX: Life is meaningless. How did this happen.
JAY: …and that reminds me of a certain, well, pecuniary matter…
REX: Who am I? Please let me ask “who am I” without sounding ironic-slash-cynical-slash-cliché-slash…pre-post-modern. Who the fuck am I?!
JAY: …
REX: Who am I.
JAY: Now it doesn't even sound like a question. You still meant that as a question, right? Let's start over.
REX: ...
JAY:...
REX: Don't say it.
JAY: I'm sorry?
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JAY: I'm sorry?
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