May 30th, 2002 - 1:41 p.m.

A nonsensical conversation between herself and a boy.

BOY: That�s that.
N.: That is what? (She is being a pest.)
BOY: That over there.
N.: Over there? Over where?
BOY: To your left.
N.: My left? Which one?
BOY: That one.
N.: The right one?
BOY: You got it.
N.: I have WHAT?
BOY: It.
N.: That?
BOY: You know it.
N.: I know nothing. I make a point of it.
BOY: How do you do that to it?
N.: I sharpen it. Than it becomes a point.
BOY: With what?
N.: That.
BOY: Oh.
N.: No, not oh! That!
BOY: I got it.
N.: You do not! At least I hope you do not. It is only to be strived for, to get it is a great tragedy.
BOY: What�s that?
N.: That? That is the sound of us being very very silly.
BOY: I cannot hear it.
N.: It is not meant to be heard. It went mute quite a few years ago. It was a hilarious tragedy.
BOY: I bet it was.
N.: Well, I never. One must not bet with it. One must only bet with that.
BOY: My mistake.
N.: Here. Take this.
BOY: What is this?
N.: This is similar to that, and only slightly different from it, though I think they are the same hue.
BOY: There is smoke coming out of my ears.
N.: Where? There? Or here?
BOY: Here we go.

I hope you are now confused. What is it? Or that? Or this? I do not believe that was ever clarified. Lack of understanding is part of the charm, non?

N.

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