talk about talk

Nineteen-eighty, almost spring. A young man is talking to himself in the mirror. He doesn't find it strange, because he doesn't realize it's a mirror. Outside, the snow is melting into gentle streams along the sidewalk strewn with wet leaves and pine needles. He's sitting at a desk. In the reflection it looks longer, like a table. Somewhere a bud or two have emerged from dead branches, and the grass is preparing to sprout. It's one of those clear days that has the sun and moon visible at the same time, but the moon looks pale, tired out; but content not to make any other effort.
— But, that has nothing to do with it; you're just appealing to another argument for arguments' sake.
— Nature has nothing to do with it? Come on now, you know very well it's in you to name.
— Fine, yes, we could be considered as having a capacity, or even an impulse or something, but that doesn't mean we're fundamentally inclined... no, frankly, it's not natural.
— Yes it is. Our nature is to name. We're designed, evolved, to do so. To fracture our perceptions and manage our lives.
— It's not a biological imperative--it's a lesson. No, it's an awareness, but it doesn't originate from within ourselves. It's imposed on us, and it perpetuates itself, and it alters us. It's...
— Don't go so far, you're so dramatic.
— It is. It's a virus.
— Language is a virus?
— Yeah. It's a psychological virus. A spiritual one, even.
— And what does that mean? A spiritual one.
— It implies a kind of test. Like, what will you trust: your nature and your natural instincts or this butchered collage?
— This butchered collage? This collage is beautiful, and it is understanding.
— Is understanding more beautiful than a childs' wonder at the blur of life and feeling?
— Ask a child, smart ass.
— I'm talking to you.
— Funny. How do you recognize your natural impulses as distinct from language? How do you pass the test?
— You don't. You find the cure. But language came from outside in--you have to find something inside to free yourself from it. It's easy. The cure from language is words. The virus comes with it's own antidote. But it must be learned.
— It's still nature.
— No. Now if anything, it's post-natural. Think of 'abera-cadabera'. A magic spell, an incantation. All words. Language affects real change in the world, though words aren't real at all. Maybe it's a kind of sorcery more than it's viral: with the right words, you can free yourself from words, from the disconnect they serve, the gaps they create.
— Disconnect? What are we doing right now? Connecting. If we didn't share words, we'd just be people, inaccessible and distant, and if we didn't have language at all, what would we be? We would have no way to identify what we are, and there would be no connection. A virus, more of a blessing.
— True, but I also said it's a test. There is learning to do before we are free, there is connecting to do before we become free. Keep in mind, that your mind is fundamentally altered by language. When you learn, new connections are made, physical connections. Those don't go away easily. To a child, everything is part of herself, to you, nothing is really, your body can hardly be considered you, but your mind, the things you learn--that seems to a closer definition of identity. Not nature or origins, but becoming. Becoming one. I'm thirsty.
He gets up and walks to the bathroom. Before dipping to the sink for a sip of water, he banters with himself in the cabinet mirror for a moment about environmental conservation. He agrees wholeheartedly that it's important to recycle.