So what are you working on?, says W., knowing the answer. Nothing, nothing, I tell him, it's enough just to survive from day to day. I'm not like him, I tell W., I don't expect much from life, or from myself. I'm the troubled type!, I tell him. I'm perpetually troubled! W. finds this immensely funny. Your mighty oeuvre!, he exclaims. Your great contribution to humankind! How do you think you'll be remembered? What'll they put on your gravestone?
What's that name Hollywood directors use when they want to disclaim involvement with a film?, W. asks me. Alan Smithee, I say. That should be what we sign our work, says W. We're Alan Smithees! Nothing we intended to write was how it turned out! It wasn't our fault! It was everyone else's fault! It was the system's fault, for allowing us to write!
Lars Iyer's Blog 