Listen to me. I want to tell you something. Come closer. Don't be upset and don't get emotional. Just get near me and pay attention, please. Look, I know that you're scared. I know what you're afraid of. You mistrust your body. Lately it has been looking more and more foreign. It's been doing strange things. You suspect that it has been keeping something from you. That knowledge of your own death is already programmed inside it somehow. That it's stored in a primitive organ. That in between the crush of blood and digestion your appendix or spleen sits obliviously still like an overgrown traffic island, keeping watch over a terrible secret. You worry that this knowledge will arrive at your very last moment, not as a spiritual revelation accompanied by an overwhelming cascade of sensations, but as a very public and vulgar betrayal. You're afraid of dying alone, but you're even more terrified of dying in public. Look, it's not happening at this very moment. Perhaps not as long as you listen and watch. People don't die in front of their televisions. In the meantime, we could probably do something about it together. I could tell you exactly what to expect. I could explain using precise words and heartbreaking imagery. I could make it feel as far as a famine or as close as a weather report. In the end, you may not even notice the difference. What's the matter? It's not as if you've been handed a verdict of five months to live. Your chance for appeals hasn't run out. No doctor has called you into his office. There are no news of terrorist cells operating inside you. No word of cancerous, radical, infiltrating, vulnerable spots or sticking in clumps to the back of your throat. Not yet. Maybe you've given up smoking already. That was smart, but it may not have saved you. Maybe you learned to make an enemy of the sun. To eat unprocessed food. To avoid tall buildings and airplanes. Not to go into water where sharks have been known to attack. Sometimes on the street you imagine that you've been given a gift of terrible power. That whoever makes eye contact with you, whoever you touch, will somehow be contaminated and die within days of crossing your path. You hold your breath and listen to your heart. Will it slow down? Can you will it to stop? You tried to gain some insight through exposure to second-hand sources. You take out videotapes. Walk through graveyards. Visit accident sites. You stick to your news sources with a passion approaching religion even though you always make sure to announce your secular views to anyone who would bother to listen. Still, you check out the church programs on Sunday. You can let your hair down when you're home watching television alone. There's a man reaching in front of the camera, but you're more interested in the church audience shots. You love the close-ups. The boredom. The waiting. The generosity of an audience paying and losing attention. The prayers and singing. The best and the worst of belonging. The natural need for community that you always fight hard to supress. But none of this is breaking news exactly. There's a world of genuine feeling out there. A world of commitment and action. If you could just rise above all the junk you've collected, you're convinced you could lead a more meaningful life. But there's just too much stuff happening all of the time. A prison riot of things that need to be calmed, controlled, contained and made useful again. And so you begin to recycle. You liquidate things. You start by attacking the things you've collected, separating them into groups. Organizing them by subject and history and turning them back into raw matter and energy. You recycle magazines, newspapers, receipts, notebooks, plastic containers, credit card statements, cardboard boxes, calendars, cans, contact lenses, paper bags, telephone bills, telephone numbers, traffic tickets, tax returns, personal cheques, records and tapes, music CDs, old winter clothing, cigarette ashes, mirrors, maps, pain-killing pills, antidepressants, antibiotics, loose change, unstable chairs, dead skin, hair, underwear, fingernails, buttons, knifes, plates, jackets, Q-Tips, watches, walkmen, soft drink bottles, favourite books and family photographs, gifts from friends and bygone lovers, passports, letters, keys, hats, plants, postcards, wallets, faxes, glasses, travel mementos, drivers licenses, shoes, birthday cards, homemade movies, household appliances, notes, numbers, opinions, stories, pictures, passion, people and places. You recycle anything older than a day. Anything that carries a history is dangerous. You want to erode the grid of the past. Anything beyond your control is a threat. Anything you might have described yourself with. Anything that could challenge the present. Anything that might actually say something different about who you might have been and what you've become. And so you watch and you listen. You live and you learn. You rent videotapes. You watch documentaries. You filter out information. You use your remote control. You think of your parents. You recycle. You visit accident sites.

[7:02]

I am American. You are American. We are Americans. This is America.

[7:17]

Listen to me. There's a few more things that you need to hear. Don't talk. Don't move. Don't even react. Actually, don't do anything at all. Just get near me already you hypocritical, opportunist, fake, phony, con-artist, sellout, lip-serving, limousine, liberal, white, chicken-shit motherfucker. What's the matter? Have I hurt your feelings already? Can't you speak? Can't you say anything? Have you lost your voice all of a sudden? Maybe you never had anything to say to begin with. Has that occurred to you? Well, let me tell you something. You are shallow and weak. You are constantly criticizing everything but the truth is you have never produced anything of enduring significance and now you're finding out just how inconsequential your opinions have been all along. You're probably laughing right now but deep down inside you know it's not funny. Are you even hearing me or are you so full of yourself that you imagine you can keep pandering to your multiple insecurities forever? You are so hypocritical, self-absorbed and pathetic that I wonder sometimes just, just how much it takes to move you, God damn it. You love to complain about me in the public, but guess who you run to at the first sign of trouble? God, you make me sick. As a matter of fact, you've become so cynical that it is difficult for you to believe in anything without immediately meaning to find its potential for destabilization. Why is anxiety making you do this? Are you so worried about getting old, about seeming young, being yesterday's news? Scrambling to keep up but always hopelessly out of touch. There is such a wide gulf between your self-perception and actions that not even you can keep the contradiction from collapsing, let alone can you sell it to others. Do not tell me how this is typical of your generation and definitely don't blame this on your parents. The high moment of irony is now officially over. So why don't you go get a drink or whatever it is that you do when you're trying to convince yourself that you're thinking?

[10:15]

I'm so sorry this happened. Sometimes I get carried away and speak without thinking. Will you forgive me? I really don't know what happened. You just looked like you were in such a bad funk that I had to do something about it somehow. Even though I'm usually happy to shoulder the blame, both of us know that this time it's clearly not my fault. Obviously it's not the best approach to be helpful by criticizing and I know that you think I just love telling you what to do all the time, but do try to see things from my perspective once in a while. You know it's not easy to make a genuine connection these days, and it's not like I haven't been hurt in the past. I just feel like I have so much to give but sometimes you can be so full of resentment. Why is that? Perhaps I talk too much. Maybe I come on a little too strong. Sometimes even I overreact. Okay. I'll be the first to admit this, but the truth is that I can repeat myself over and over and over but for some reason you have serious difficulties remembering anything that I say. If we're going to be in this relationship for some time, we may as well begin working on this together now. It's not enough to turn me on once in a while. It's not enough for you to turn to me every time you need something. I also have needs. I need more from you. I need your attention. I need to know I'm being listened to. I need to know that I'm being understood. But more importantly though, I really need to know that I'm alive. I need to remember what it's like to hold breath underwater. How smooth a stone from a river can feel in the palm of my hand. I need to revisit the ground along which words used to speed to their meanings, and then remember the first innocent thrill of pulling them and their precious cargo off-track. And finally, I need you to stop pretending to care. To get off your ass and start acting like you do, alright? This is not a lot to be asking for, is it?

[13:11]

How did we get to this point? Where did we go wrong? What have we done? Where do our responsibilities begin? Where do our needs end? What have we done to deserve this? What could we have done to prevent it from happening? What can we learn? Where do we go from here? What do we know? How have we changed? What should we have done differently? Who can we trust? How will it end? Who can we blame? What do we want? How could we do this? How do we know? Where do we look? How far back do we go? How will it help us? What should we do? What do we keep? How could we ever explain this? What must we admit? What can we lose? What are the facts? What do we stand for? What can we say? Why are we back to this point? What the hell were we thinking? What are we afraid of? Who are we? Where do we come from? What can we remember? How much can we still forget?

[14:32]

I don't know what to say. Every time I try to speak carefully, I fuck up and make a big mess of it all. I don't want to constantly accuse you of things so I'm going to try and talk about myself now as genuinely as I possibly can, leaving every window and all doors open in the brain, so to speak. This is important to me, so please listen. The last few months have been very difficult. I've said too much. I've done hurtful things. I haven't said enough. It seems we've developed a taste for each other's weaknesses. That we thrive on consuming each other. No doubt we each have our motives for this. We attack then quickly withdrawal and defend. We put flags on various hilltops and lay siege to each other's needs. We play dead, make claims and demand, issue orders and restock our supplies in the dark. As lifelong adversaries, we do this with enough practice and caution to know when to stop, but we're helpless before our own instincts. We can not handle the quiet, the horrible normal, the shared non-eventfulness that would give our relationship the stability it so desperately lacks. I'm exhausted from trying. I love you. I miss you, even though we hardly ever spend any time away from each other. But still, I cannot give up. It's funny to say this but I feel more alone in your company now than ever before.