The City & The Monkey

Jeff:
C-t-y-i. Ctyi. Cyti. Ciyt. Yict. Yict! YICT!

Evil Monkey:
Jeez Louise, Jeff, what the heck is wrong? Yer sitting in the dark mumbling crap to yourself. In a corner no less. Facing the wall.

Jeff:
Can’t get. Can’t get. The word right. It doesn’t mean anything anymore.

Evil Monkey:
What word? What word could be that important.

Jeff:
This word–see, on this piece of paper.

Evil Monkey:
City?


(bwaaaaahahahahahaahahahahahahahaha)

Jeff:
Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Evil Monkey:
Er, that’s what it says, “City”.

Jeff:
Stop saying that!

Evil Monkey:
Why?

Jeff:
I don’t know what it means. It’s meaningless. Look at it, it’s four letters that you put them together and there’s nothing there. C. I. T. Y. T. Y. I. C. Nothing at all.

Evil Monkey:
Wow. You’re crazier than me. Is this because of all of those posts this week?

Jeff:
Honestly, I thought it was all going great. Then about Wednesday night I started thinking the city and the city and the city and the city and the city and the city and the city and the city and the city and–

Evil Monkey:
Snap out of it!

Jeff:
Ow! That hurt!

Evil Monkey:
Listen, I understand. You’ve been supersaturated with a term so much that it’s lost all meaning. That happened to me once with “monkey”. Another time with “Cory Doctorow”. Also “I’m not giving you my money.” But it’ll pass. Soon, maybe in months, city will mean something again.

Jeff:
I have to keep telling myself Mieville is a kind of car to stop from that word escaping me, too. And Praa–Praaaaa. Praaaaa–.

Evil Monkey:
Come on. Spit it out. You can do it, old feller.

Jeff:
PraaaaGUE. Prague. Totally useless now on the tongue.

Evil Monkey:
If those are the only three words that become meaningless to you, I think you’ll be able to function.

Jeff:
Yes, but others are going, too. Weird. Grotesque. Fantasy. Fantastical. That damn ampersand is close, too. Wasn’t just the posts. Also that Shared Worlds stuff and then final proofreading on Finch.

Evil Monkey:
Hmmm. Do you think this’ll affect your ability to pursue your livelihood.

Jeff:
If I can’t use C. I. T. Y. how will I write any fiction? If I can’t use F. A. N. T. A. S. Y. how will I write any blog posts? Even “surreal” is beginning to look like some kind of obscure disease.

Evil Monkey:
Hmmm. Have you thought about becoming a plumber? I’m fairly sure you won’t need those words. Unless things go really badly.

Jeff:
Just leave me to wallow in this corner…Wait. What the hell? Get away from me. What the—!!

Evil Monkey:
Just sit still.

Jeff:
Aaaaargggggggh!!!!!!!!

Evil Monkey:
Feel better?

Jeff:
That was a bucket of pennies you poured over me. WTF. And you stole my wallet!

Evil Monkey:
That was a dose of reality. That was a dose of the mimetic. Enough doses like that and soon you’ll remember what “fantasy” means. Now, we just need to get you out into some rural area. Someplace with nary a larger building in sight. If I can drop buckets of pennies on you in a field somewhere…

Jeff:
I don’t think it works that way.

Evil Monkey:
Well, I didn’t want to bring it up, but…it probably doesn’t help that you’re talking to a figment of your I. M. A. G. I. N. A. T. I. O. N.

Jeff:
*Weeping*

Comments

  1. says

    I would drive a Skoda Mieville. The GT coupe with the turbocharged straight six, for preference, running on distilled human despair at fifty-five cents a gallon. Zero to revolution in 4.8 seconds.

  2. jeff vandermeer says

    david–i can see it now: the new fall line of fantasists from chrysler.

  3. Hellbound Heart says

    i see it now….your muse sitting on your right shoulder, the evil monkey on your left…….or does the latter periodically disengage itself from the former like an amoeba?

    peace and love….

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