Friday, August 30, 2013

There's Something About Melancholy.

She doesn't have any special characteristics; maybe a burn above her bosom, but not bearing any brightness beyond the bestial scenic standards of scientific scrutiny secured severely, so solely somatic. Nothing magic happens for her, or when it does it is not magical. She lays all her hopes in the hands of that which is explicitly physical, or defined in terms that do not encroach on the current standard models. Not even the budding advances of metaphysical sciences can cut it, and though she claims to trust Turing's example she refuses to trust it's legitimate reasoning; whether or not the universe we observe plays back.

It could be that she doesn't exist, in fact, but that is only my own interpretation of the given circumstances. I couldn't care less whether my friends are a psychotic manifestation of my own or of theirs, what matters most is that she feels. Complaining of a dulled sense of reality; a bruising of her ego that she calls depression, I offer these words of well-wishing: "It is a depression that plagues our area this week, I've felt it as well."

Looking at the world in the way she does she cannot fathom what I have said beyond the words I have used. Her less astute response can only be, "You live nowhere near me". While I didn't expect this, I already had the intention of continuing to wish her well.

"We're barely a state's border apart; Include New York and Maryland, and you have our area," Though I mostly define it by my own means, it is still a locale when compared to the rest of the planet. However, and acting as an older sister disappointed by a shown lack of intelligence from a younger brother (even though I am older), she gives a sullen sigh thinking ill of my words, and offers her own contortuous retort, "As I thought; we are nowhere near each other".

It is here I have learned to let go of the reigns. She rarely shows an interest in what she says I name meaningful; thinking it all trite she likes to lord her close-minded Intelligence over my open, expressive Wisdom, and the denizens of the place we like to talk all agree with each word that comes from her lips on an individual bases (that is, without seeing them in context as a sentence, but as wrangled-together bits of random information that sound good in the moment (unless, of course, one were to speak them aloud. Although, At that point, it shows less meaning and more proclamation than anything)).

Of course I can't simply let go...

I let her know I'm not playing by offering a saying heard many times in the heat of discussion that ought not be heated: "It's alright then..". A way to cool the water before trudging further, but in the same line I lay my next stitch because I hate waiting for the information to sink in before I've finished. "I figured the space of a few miles wasn't that far when compared to the nearest star."

It was there our conversation ended, as she couldn't bend far enough to see over the twenty-mile hedges.

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