Monday, May 23, 2011

Laryngitis


He said, "See, what's happened is perfectly normal: you're worried that you've lost yr. literary voice."

I was confused. 'Literary voice?' Was that like yr. 'indoor voice?' What did he mean?









“Well, don't worry. I don't think you've lost yr. literary voice. I think it's just a little hoarse.”


Now I was really confused. Like Athena goin' backwards, an insane picture burst, fully formed, into my head. I could see me, Horatio, in my mind's eye, gagging, as one of those tiny prehistoric horses read a book that had been tied to my vocal cords.


“Uh, you mean my voice is a Hyracotherium?”


He said, “Come again?”


Now that really threw me. But I figured we were well through the looking glass here, so i just shrugged and unzipped my fly. I was just about to grasp my member when he screamed, “Ahg no! stop!”


Not having received mixed signals like this since I took a closeted lesbian to my junior high school prom, I just blinked.


“See?” he said. “That's what I mean! You're taking everything literally. The linguistic paths to yr. imagination have been badly damaged.”


“Oooooohhhh...!” I said, trying to placate him so he'd shut the fuck up. “That's it!”


“Look at what little writing you do do. (Huh huh...) Life's just become this really old, bad forced joke to you."


"Become?"