The Same Coin?

The Artist is a debonair character, fashionable and quite presentable. The Artist is articulate, thoughtful, charming, and graceful.

The Writer is a mad, shambling beast, who speaks only in monosyllabic grunts. It is not advisable to make eye contact with the Writer, and even more dangerous to criticize his work. While the Artist will engage in a civil quarrel with the critic, the Writer will go for the throat.

The Artist can heal with a touch. Such is his absolute purity. The Writer has not heard of the word 'comb.' The Writer is likewise ignorant of the existence of water, and completely unfamiliar with its use as a cleansing agent.

"Through my writing I hope to reveal the various idiosyncrasies that impede us as individuals (and as a society), and propose possible solutions to these common quandaries," explains the Artist.

"Gar," says the Writer. "Zuh. Rel."

The Artist is a social butterfly. The Writer shuns natural light. The eyes and mind of the Writer have been damaged by years staring at irradiated computer screens, and the hands of the Writer are tattooed with blobs of ink.

The Writer only eats macaroni and cheese, or "mub," as he refers to it. He only drinks milk that expired three days ago. The Artist shoves this food through a slot in the door of the closet in which the Writer lives. The Artist then leaves to attend social events, while the Writer writes. The Artist of course takes full credit for the Writer's achievements. Hence the Writer's mournful, self-pitying wails, which only dogs can hear, and his irrational hatred of all living things.

The Writer leaves a trail of green slime in his wake. He was summoned from the primordial chaos of the sixth dimension by the Artist in order to do the Artist's work. This occurred upon one of the rare occasions that the Artist set foot upon the earth.

Perhaps I am getting a little carried away in my analogies.

This gulf between my personalities is bridged only by the act of writing itself. For, through some magic, it is the voice of the Artist that issues from the words that the Writer arranges. In its primitive mind, the Writer is pleased with this miracle. He makes noises of joy: "gluh, flum."

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