Solitary confinement

Saturday. I bet that's a good day for you.

It's generally good. I mean, it's good, you know, it's Saturday. I'm in a bit of a rut, though. I do the same thing each Saturday, and they're good things. I smoke dope, I play guitar...

You get on the internet...

I look at porn and end up in bed, jerking off. Then I lay down and listen to a podcast or something, but usually spoken, the human voice talking or telling stories. The best one is that Ira Glass show...

This American Life?

Yeah. That's how I'd like to write some songs, you know, like the writing on This American Life. Anyway, I listen to something then I usually fall asleep an have a nice, long nap. Then I take a shower and get my dirty clothes together and go see my brother and his family. So I have supper with them, wash my clothes, and spend the evening with them. We'll watch a movie or something. I get to see my niece, who is so precious that I can barely believe it. She's one of my favorite people in the whole world.

Anyways, that's my Saturday. All of them.

Not bad. You just want to mix it up a little?

Yeah. I feel like I want to get back to the land of the living. I've been under such solitary confinement for so long -- self-sentenced, of course. Oh, and self-enforced. It's a hard thing to gauge because I need a whole lot of solitude, anyway. I have to have it. I need to be alone more than most people, I think, but you know that being alone, stoned, all the time is not a good way to live. And I feel alienated enough from my fellow species as it is.

I just realized that "species" rhymes with "feces." So it's a songwriting opportunity. Just thought I should share that little tidbit with you.

Gee, thanks.

How are you?

I'm good. But listen...I don't want to seem rude or ungrateful, but this whole interview process is about you. But thanks for asking.

Wait. Now I can't ask how you fuckin' are?

I was afraid of this...

No, no, let's get this out. What the fuck can I ask you? Shall I fill out an application for our friendship? Wait, wait, I forgot! We don't have a friendship. We have an fuckin' interview. We can be so fuckin' appropriate and professional here.

Wait, farmboy...

No, no; let me escalate now. And then I'll be really tired and embarrassed...

And you'll feel beat up...

Yeah, a kid on the receiving end of a leather belt, yeah, yeah, you can see the welts and shit...

Jesus, farmboy! Take a breath. Breathe. What the fuck are you talking about?

(farmboy closes his eyes and breathes deeply several times, then puts his head in his hands. Removing his hands, farmboy looks at the interviewer directly in his eyes, as if daring the interviewer. Then he turns away, and then turns back.)

Save me. You need to help me.

I will.

You really need to be with me in this, you don't know.

I'm with you. Trust me.

I will.