Category Archives: Kitsch

We don’t really talk like that anymore

All this business he broods over, X tells me, all these confessional phrases he collects, from what, for what, to concoct evidence of his inability to what, he says, trial is an obsolete word, to sit up like a duck for my silent judgement, judgement what an obsolete word, for the father’s judgement and the mother’s kitsch, he says. Accept it already and move on, he says, we know all this. A word in your ear, we don’t really talk like that anymore. It’s embarrassing, he says, and how embarrassing that he should have to feel embarrassed about my embarrassment. He should have got over it years ago, of course, it’ll only end in tears, grow a pair, lighten up. Maybe he just needs to get laid, he says, maybe I’m right, he feels old already, can I find him a girl? No, of course I can’t.



Tomorrow he’ll be better, X promises me, tomorrow he’ll be sober and less stupid. He’ll renounce his unseemly emotions in the English way. In fact he’s renouncing them as we speak, he says. He’ll be cooler. It’s obscene isn’t it, he says, this kitsch of his, when there are struggling starving people in the world, when Aung San Suu Kyi is under house arrest, etc. I’ve discredited myself, he says, or something inside me has discredited itself, that much is clear, tomorrow I’ll be better.