Freud: The Penultimate Biography

Here's an excerpt from my upcoming book Freud: The Penultimate Biography (Raw Dog Screaming Press 2013). It encapsulates feelings I experience at least once per minute.

CHAPTER 32

Somebody came up to me.

I waved them off and said, “I’m not interested.”

They kept coming and tried to say something.

I spread my fingers and pressed my hand against an invisible pane of glass. Then I delivered this monologue:

“I’m not interested. Really. I’m not interested. Not interested. I’m not. I have no interest in you. None. I’m not interested. I don’t care what you have to say. It won’t interest me. I guarantee it. Really. It will not interest me. I won’t find what you have to say to me interesting. Not even remotely. I’m really very extremely profoundly not interested. Nothing can make me interested. Because I’m not interested. It’s not going to happen. Ever. Me being interested, I mean. Do you understand? I’m not interested. I’m not interested. I’m not interested. No hard feelings. If it makes you feel better, I’m not interested in anybody. Well. I wish you luck placing the extension of your selfhood via oral transmission elsewhere. Somebody’s bound to be interested in you. Somebody’s bound to be. Somebody other than me. But I’m not interested. I’m just going to sit here for now. So if you could just, like, turn around and go away, that’d be great. Yeah. If you could turn around. Turn around. That’s it. Turn around and go away. Turn around. Go away. That’s it. That’s it. That’s it. So long. Thank you. Thanks. I’ll be here all weekend. All right bye.”

(NOTE: You may apply the above monologue to virtually anybody. Writer, car salesman, monkey trainer, monkey, certain Presidents of the United States—it’s appropriate for multiple would-be interlocutors.)