m jane colette’s left-brain persona sold out long ago. She wears severely-cut suits of black, blue and only that shade of green (“No, not that shade—have you seen the colour of my hair and eyes? Please. Let’s coordinate.”) and spends a lot of time in board rooms, offices, and “war rooms” (what a name!) parsing lies. It’s a living.
(But, oh, what a plethora of source material…)
Her right-brain persona longs to be an iconoclast and an artist. When nobody’s looking, she writes poetry (badly) and throws colours at paper (not quite as badly).
Tell Me is her left side’s and right side’s first collaboration.
You: “What’s with this talking about yourself in the third person thing?”
Me: “My therapist says it’s a coping-defensive-distancing technique. But it doesn’t do a lot of harm.”
You: “You sure? Cause it’s kind of creepy.”
Me: “Don’t judge me.”
They’re both inordinately fond of parentheses, em-dashes and non-sequiteurs.
Left: “It’s how you knock ‘Them’ off-balance, before you move in for the kill.”
Right: “It’s how you defy the grammar-unartists and let language sing.”
They have the same taste in shoes.
Left: “It’s more of a fetish.”
Right: “Definitely a fetish. And not a cheap one. That’s why I let her sell out, by the way.”
They’re overwhelming and exhausting.
You: “I bet.”
Me: “You don’t know the half of it.”
But they give a kick-ass interview.
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