Bakhtin: Jacques? Jacques?

There is no response from Derrida, who is now snoring. Bakhtin kicks him.

Derrida (startled): What?!
Bak: You must stay awake.
Der: Then we have to talk about something.
Bak: I was thinking: suppose we're writers.
Der: What else would we be?
Bak: We could be authors
Der: What's the differance?
Bak: The what?
Der: Never mind.
Bak: If we were authors, we'd be dead.
Der: We're dead?
Bak: I don't know if we're dead.
Der: When will you know?
Bak: When Foucault gets here.
Der: I don't understand.
Bak: That's good!!
Der: Why?
Bak: Because if you understood me, we wouldn't be talking.

Der: Oh.
Bak: Even if we're writers, do you think we should even bother being alive?
Der: Why?
Bak: Didn't Plato say that writing was bad?
Der: No, you fool. We don't even know what Plato meant. Some words mean opposite things.
Bak: So?
Der: So Plato could have meant anything. What he really meant is that writing is good.

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