Laura and Tommy are the kind of couple who inspire longing in their friends and jealousy in their enemies (of which they haven’t many.) They’re rich and they’re good-looking; they know their wines and they know their world affairs. They also only ever speak to one another in non-sequiturs.
In fact, sometimes their whole relationship seems to have been built on their ability to carry on conversations in which nothing follows from what came right before.
This makes the talk at the dinner table pretty hard for guests.
Laura says something like, “A cloud, three cats: the shape of colour.”
Tommy responds with, “But bells will be bells.”
You know the sort of thing.
But, as I’ve said, they’re rich and they’re clever: and one good thing about being rich and clever – or at least a certain kind of it – is that people assume you can be trusted.
Therefore, they believe that Laura and Tommy’s disjointed chatter is actually a higher form of speech: because it cannot be understood, it must be beautiful. And, as with all matters of faith, if you treat something as the truth for long enough, it eventually becomes the truth.
Nobody ever, for a minute, suggests that Laura and Tommy are incomprehensible because they’re at a loss for words, that they are simply filling space. No one imagines that the trick is only as good as the people who buy into it.
Just keep this in mind the next time you listen to someone who actively plugs themselves as being “experimental.”