Conflict isn’t a suit I wear well.

…although when need be, I can make it fit.

Tonight’s debate at the cafe concerned schools of thought.  It did not need to be a debate.  It could have been as simple as what is considered decent among two people from very different philosophical points of reference – simply said, “agree to disagree”.  Such was not the case with Spoon.  I can’t blame him for wishing that I commit suicide.  With such a statement, he missed the point of the philosophies I asked him to research.  Of the two that I shared, he only remembered one.  This was after a three-hour session of “back and forth”. 

The whole time we spoke, I understood that perhaps we were communicating from different parts of our minds.  Basically, because our ideologies didn’t match, our comprehension of language – the language of one man speaking English to another – was non-existent.  Over the course of three hours, time and again, we were back to “square one”.  It was then that I offered an explanation in the form of two words, and I asked him to look them up if inclined to do so.

A short time later, he returned and said very little.  Then, as if he were sitting on an M80, he exploded from his chair and requested that I commit suicide.  At this time, there were others at the table partaking of our nightly coffee and cigarette binges.  Some were surprised, others were bored to tears.  (Spoon and I do this often.)  The scene reminded me of something that might’ve happened to Nicholas Stavrogin, Peter Verkhovensky, or “Prince” Mishkin – three men I have more in common with than I do actual, living beings.  But to explain who and what they are to you, or Spoon, would take months.  We didn’t have months tonight, so I sat in silence.

You see, conflict is not a suit I wear well.  Although when need be, I can make it fit.  Tonight I took a page out of one of my mentor’s books.  I wore the mask of the Mahathera Phang.  I sat in silence and allowed Spoon to work himself up into a frenzy, foaming at the mouth, confusing the others, and making himself sound like a man who had lost his mind.

Shortly after the spectacle, the party dispersed, and again, Spoon prayed for my death.  (I wonder what school of thought he follows?)

I waved and bid him an au revoir, and experienced a vision, both holy and terrible in this author’s words:

“Once again tears gathered in the magician’s eyes;  he understood, more deeply than he had ever done, the Sorrow of the Universe.  He saw how utterly incompatible are all our human ideas with the Laws of Life.” – A.C.



2 responses to “Conflict isn’t a suit I wear well.

  1. Perhaps you should not waste your time, energy and vehemence with debaters que no estan a tu altura. Were you talking about schools of thought in psychology? Doesn’t Spoon know that you are not an active suicidal?


  2. We were discussing philosophical schools of thought. Spoon knows I won’t die by my own hand. I take his tantrums with a grain of salt. He has yet to learn that his opinion is not the be all end all. Time teaches all.


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