How would you interpret this sentence?
How would you interpret the fifteenth sentence: You’re all about filling your head with words?
PS: the whole story is about the afterlife and one of them was going to find a girl.
PS: the excerpt is taken from “Kneller’s Happy Campers” written by an Israeli author, Etgar Keret. And I’m reading an English translation.
“We?” Gelfand asked, suspicious. “Figure of speech, that’s all,” I reassured him. “I never figured you’d come with me just to find some rich piece of ass. Besides, I know you got lots of commitments.” “Hey, listen.” Gelfand was still at it. “Don’t get smart-assed.” “I’m not,” I said. “I just told you. I really wasn’t expecting you to come.” “Gimme, like, one good reason, and I will. It’s not like I’m out to be a jerk or anything.” “How about that I love her,” I tried. “No you don’t.” Gelfand shook his head. “It’s just like your stupid suicide. You’re all about filling your head with words.” “No shit. And I guess your suicide was a stroke of genius?” “I’m not trying to diss you, Mordy. I’m just trying to tell you something. I dunno, like I’m not even sure what it is.” Gelfand sat down beside me. “Lemme put it this way. Since you got here, how many times d’you get laid?” “Why?” “Just because.” “Actually laid? None, I think.” “You think?” “None,” I confessed. “But what’s that got to do with it?” “Plenty. Because you’re up to your eyeballs with sperm, got that? Everything you look at is gray. Your sperm count’s so high and your brain’s pressing against your skull so hard that you think you’re having an out-of-body experience like nobody in the whole goddamn universe ever had before. Like you’re so strung out it’s worth dying for. Leaving everything. Going off to live in the Galilee. Ever live in the Galilee? You know, nothing but goat shit and once-a-day buses.” “Lay off, Uzi. I really don’t need this, you know,” I cut in. “Just gimme the car, OK? And don’t start bitching about the insurance. If I break anything, I’ll pay for it.”