Talking to Hank Green and Bukowski

I spent more time alone than I would like to admit. To deal with it, I turned to the habit of having full fledged conversations with who ever’s book I was reading.

At the time, I’d just finished my third book in five days. The air of pride wore out, and the loneliness set in. I couldn’t sleep a wink. Even my dreams were barren, and I spoke to no one there. I hadn’t heard another person’s voice in so long, I can no longer speak to myself when I sleep.

I dragged myself up, and sat and stared across me. I could see the outlines of the couch and the towels, and all the things I owned started to make their way out of the dark. And suddenly I heard.

“Because you’re limp. That’s why.”

I turned. And I knew who I was looking for, but found nothing but more towels.

“You can’t just say I’m limp and consider that an argument against my literary abilities. It’s an absurd accusation.”

It was a different voice. But not an unfamiliar one at all. I turned the lights on, and on the floor in front of me, laid Bukowski, with his socks, dirty and smudged in his shoes, to his side. Hank Green was sitting in a chair, with his hands on his lap.

“You’re more limp than a dog with no legs. Your spine is made of paper mache.”
“Let’s assume you’re right. I am a quadrapelegic with a paper spine. How does that undermine the authority of what I’m writing and how good it is.” Said Hank Green

“When a man inseminates a woman, only the worthy sperm survives.” replied Bukowski “If history were an ovary, you would be the forgotten cum stain.”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I’d finally snapped. The thinly shielded barrier of insanity that once had its grips on me finally broke, and in their conversation, I found freedom.

Overloaded with joy, I took a gasp of air, ready to say something. I didn’t know what I wanted to say, but I was saying it. No sooner they heard me breathe, that they turned to me.

“Hi!” I practically yelled. I was excited.

“Who’s this joker?” asked Bukowski.

I could see John Greene fumble in his head, trying to find words, but before he could muster anything up he waved his hands, and they were both out of sight.

 

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