I'm fascinated with myself and love hearing the sound of my own

Host: The recording studio was dimly lit — a cathedral of sound and solitude. The air shimmered faintly with the residue of music: warm static, the smell of vinyl and dust, and the soft hum of equipment cooling down after a long session. Red and blue lights pulsed faintly on the console, like tiny electronic heartbeats.

Host: Jack sat behind the mixing board, fingers drumming absently against a fader. In front of him, through the glass, Jeeny stood with one hand on the microphone, her reflection faint in the glass. The atmosphere was thick with that peculiar electricity that lives between creation and confession.

Jeeny: (laughing softly) “You know, Gene Simmons once said, ‘I'm fascinated with myself and love hearing the sound of my own voice. I'd like to hear what I have to say. A lot of people don't like being alone because they truly don't like themselves, but I love me.’”
(She steps back from the mic, smirking.) “He’s either the most honest man alive… or the most dangerous.”

Jack: (grinning) “Maybe both. Honesty always has a bit of danger in it.”

Jeeny: “Still, there’s something refreshing about that kind of self-assurance. Most people would choke trying to say they love themselves out loud.”

Jack: “That’s because it sounds like arrogance — but maybe it’s just rare confidence. There’s a thin line between self-love and self-worship.”

Jeeny: “And which side do you think he’s on?”

Jack: (shrugging) “Depends on the day. I think he’s too self-aware to be delusional. Simmons plays the narcissist like a rockstar plays guitar — loudly, but in tune.”

Host: The studio light flickered, catching the dust in midair like golden confetti. Jeeny leaned against the mic stand, eyes gleaming with thought.

Jeeny: “You know, most people talk about loving others as the highest virtue, but Simmons turns it inward. He’s saying, ‘Before I can love anyone else, I have to be fascinated by my own existence.’”

Jack: “Exactly. And there’s truth in that. People fear being alone because it forces them to meet themselves — and most of them aren’t ready for the encounter.”

Jeeny: “It’s the mirror test. Sit alone long enough, and your reflection starts to talk back.”

Jack: (nodding) “And sometimes it says things you don’t want to hear.”

Jeeny: “But Simmons? He’s not afraid of his own voice. He’s enchanted by it. Maybe that’s why he’s lasted this long — he knows how to fill silence with himself.”

Host: The sound of a reel tape turning filled the room — the slow spin of captured moments. Outside the window, the city pulsed with its neon heartbeat, but in here, time felt still — suspended in the echo of conversation.

Jack: “You ever notice how society teaches us to doubt ourselves just enough to stay manageable? Love yourself too much, and they call you vain. Love yourself too little, and they call you broken.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. There’s no room for balanced narcissism.”

Jack: (smiling) “Now there’s a phrase — balanced narcissism.”

Jeeny: “It’s what artists need, isn’t it? Enough ego to create, but enough humility to survive the creation.”

Jack: “Yeah. You can’t make art without a little vanity. It’s the belief that your thoughts are worth hearing.”

Jeeny: “And the courage to say them out loud — again and again — until someone else finally agrees.”

Host: The microphone hummed, low and alive, as Jeeny adjusted it slightly. Her reflection shimmered on the glass — two versions of her: the speaker and the listener.

Jeeny: “You know, I envy that level of self-acceptance. I’ve spent half my life trying to make peace with myself. He seems to have skipped straight to celebration.”

Jack: “Maybe that’s the trick — stop negotiating with the mirror.”

Jeeny: “Easier said than done.”

Jack: “Of course. But think about it — Simmons isn’t apologizing for his confidence. He’s saying, ‘If I can’t stand myself, how can I expect anyone else to?’”

Jeeny: “So self-love becomes a public service?”

Jack: (laughing) “In a way. The world has enough people broadcasting self-loathing. A little unapologetic self-adoration might actually balance the signal.”

Host: The recording light above the door glowed red again, filling the room with a soft pulse. Jeeny’s voice drifted through the mic, low and thoughtful.

Jeeny: “It’s funny, though. He says he loves hearing himself talk — but what if it’s not vanity? What if it’s curiosity? Maybe he talks so much because he’s still trying to figure himself out.”

Jack: “Yeah. And that’s the secret — the fascination isn’t with perfection; it’s with discovery. Narcissism without awareness is blindness. But narcissism with self-knowledge? That’s art.”

Jeeny: “Like loving your flaws as part of the composition.”

Jack: “Exactly. The cracks are what make the song human.”

Host: The music from the control room speakers faded in — a slow, haunting guitar riff looping like a thought that wouldn’t leave.

Jeeny: “Do you love yourself, Jack?”

Jack: (quietly) “Some days. On others, I tolerate myself. But I’m learning to like the sound of my own silence.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “That’s where it starts — liking the silence enough to fill it honestly.”

Jack: “Yeah. Maybe we all have a voice worth hearing. Most people just don’t give theirs permission to speak.”

Jeeny: “Or to be proud.”

Jack: “Especially proud. We’re told pride is sin. But sometimes, it’s salvation.”

Host: The rain outside had stopped, leaving the streets glistening — reflections of light dancing across the glass like applause.

Jeeny: “You know what I love about Simmons’s quote? It’s fearless. He refuses to apologize for being complete without an audience.”

Jack: “That’s power. Not arrogance — sovereignty.”

Jeeny: “Yes. The sovereignty of self. The kind of love that doesn’t demand validation to exist.”

Jack: “That’s the kind of love I could respect.”

Host: The song ended, the final chord fading into stillness. The silence that followed wasn’t empty — it was full, humming, alive.

Jeeny: (softly, almost to herself) “Maybe loving yourself isn’t vanity at all. Maybe it’s the most radical form of honesty.”

Jack: “And maybe the world only fears it because it reminds everyone how little they’ve tried.”

Host: The recording light clicked off, and the studio fell into a deep, velvety quiet.

And in that silence, Gene Simmons’s words seemed to echo — not with arrogance, but with revelation:

that to love oneself
is not to boast,
but to bear witness —
to one’s own becoming,
one’s flaws and fire alike;
that the truest voice
is the one unafraid of its echo;
and that solitude,
when filled with self-acceptance,
is not loneliness —
but sovereignty in sound.

Host: Jack reached over and turned off the console, the glow fading from the dials.

Jeeny: (grinning) “So, do you think Simmons was right?”

Jack: “About loving himself? Absolutely. And maybe that’s the only kind of love that never fades.”

Host: They stepped out into the quiet street, the night humming with its own music —
two souls unafraid of silence,
each carrying the sound of their own voice,
finally in tune with themselves.