“This drunkard has a pretty clear head on his shoulders.”
He’s mimicking me, he’s mimicking me so as to make a fool out of me. A moment ago he was talking sense, but now he’s talking nonsense ...
Nonsense. I thought he was more clever ...
Now I shall tell you something and cleverly, too
About that religion whose priests we both are. Between ourselves
And through ourselves is our God born
And not to heaven, but to earth does our church belong
We create God and we alone, whence does arise
That dark and terrestrial, ignorant and bestial
Inanimate and inferior, humanly human mass
Whose priest am I!
Both PRIESTS begin making wild and pathetic gestures.
Whose priest I am?
But ... I don’t understand.
You don’t understand
And yet somehow you do understand. You understand
Because I understand.
Because I understand. You? Me? Which of us
Is speaking and to whom? I don’t quite see ...
No, I don’t exactly see ...
Witold Gombrowicz, The Marriage, Act II [Trans. Iribarne]