A Conversation About Sex

There was a conversation about sex, in which it was said that we shouldn’t have sex so much anymore, or really be having sex at all anymore, which was fine, but maybe not fine, because of the tone of the conversation. The tone of the conversation being pitched at the same level as, Maybe we should stop eating Mexican food so much, it’s making us fat, or just stop eating it at all. This was the emotional pitch that the conversation was pitched at, and it is important to understand now that maybe the conversation was not my idea, but anyway, sex is different from Mexican food. No one gets their feelings hurt about Mexican food, or any food, Italian or whatever. If you stop going to an Italian restaurant, the busboy does not cry, whereas sex is a thing that two people do and therefore feelings can be hurt. Am I making myself clear now. The busboy just goes on with his day, and the waiters as well.

The entire conversation was a conversation, but there are types of conversations, different ways and means about them, and on the whole, I found it to be unpleasantly scattered, and also, during the conversation about sex, we started arguing about Post-Structuralism, or maybe Deconstruction I can’t remember, and I said that Deconstruction was just a machine, a machine for taking things apart, but then those words acquired extra resonance because we were also talking about sex.

The whole conversation is deconstructed now; irony. The whole conversation was not a conversation. The whole conversation was not a conversation; the whole conversation was a notebook that you find on a bridge. A notebook that you find on a bridge over an ugly byway, or not even a notebook, just scattered loose-leaf paper, someone’s notes for something that never came off, a love letter unsent. Dearest Mary — by the time you read this I will– Or not even a love letter, a grocery list, a laundry list, no, a grocery list. Remember to buy more beans. But it’s just this piece of paper on a bridge and so, probably, they did not remember to do the thing after all. Anyway, so, maybe we should talk about this again, but that was the conversation, so that’s just how I feel about the whole thing, so I hope this was clear, but probably it’s not clear, probably it’s not clear at all, but — rather — obscured. Like a thing that you can’t see because of the light. Or maybe there’s a tree in the way of the thing, so that you can’t see due to your obscured vision, try and peer though you might. Anyway, it’s like a thing like that.

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