Wednesday, 5 October 2011

At the interrogation clinic

When did your heart stop Professor?

Professor is merely a courtesy title.

You have not answered question.

Is it really a question, or an accusation by implication?

How so?

If my heart had stopped, I would be unable to satisfy it. Take that literally and metaphorically.


One only answers a question, by definition, with a certain care, no matter how feeble.

You have curious notion of satisfy. So you are one of those cognitive therapy types, rearrange thoughts to what is acceptable to fashion?

Oh, no. No. But such an attempt to realign a person's reasoning can be instructive, though sometimes that revelatory process could tell more against the attempt at realigning.

So there can be no definite answer.

No more than to speculate as to how far the - a - light can reveal the depth of darkness independent of who's holding it.

I decided to like you Professor.

But, of course, you knew that was my intention almost immediately. And it's just a courtesy title, as I mentioned.

And I suspect you are willing to extend me same courtesy.

Indeed, I am.

So who is prisoner?

Or who is freer?

Perhaps now I take to dislike.

Perhaps, but I don't suppose you have just yet, though I grant you are perfectly capable.

You are ungenerous in magnanimity. It does not suit you.

Yes, I deserved that.

Nor does false modesty.

It is not a look that takes well with you either. Let us now get down to business.


The oldest profession.

Client and prostitute not always easy to distinguish Professor.

You are right, they are not.

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