Alix and Alex: Incandescent

[20 minutes past on the dinner table.]
Alix: How long do you think we can continue like this?
Alex: Like what?
Alix: This! The silence! All your gloom and anger I can take, but what am I to make of your silence? Hatred, ignorance or guilt?
Alex: I don’t care. Perhaps it doesn’t mean anything.
Alix: Ignorance, it is then.
Alex: Don’t you get it? You said that what we have is possibly the best anybody can have. Now, we built this, our love. And if anything should ever go wrong, when we have a disagreement, we have to move down to the next best thing.
Alix: And you figured silence is the next best thing?
Alex: Why not? Do you wish to argue instead?
Alix: Perhaps it is. But you know what’s not so good about these next best things? We’re always gonna know that we’ve made a compromise. Everything that we’ve built will only be corrupted, tainted by this idea. It’s a slippery slope, the next best thing. It only ever gets worse.
Alex: Do you ever wish that we could go back, back to when we hadn’t lost anything?
Alix: No, my dear, not ever. What good would that do me, watching myself lose everything all over again, watching us ripped to shreds all over again?
Alex: No. you’re mixing it up. I’m saying when we had lost nothing…
Alix: Yeah, and I’m saying when we had everything to lose. What’s the difference?
Alex: I don’t care what the difference is. Would you even listen to yourself? You don’t want the next best thing. God! You don’t even want the best thing. I’m having a hard time trying to figure out what do you really want.
Alix: Don’t you ever wish to go back to the beginning when we had nothing? Do you remember the day when Rhea said to us that we must have a lot in common?
Alex: Yes, and you said that we don’t, and that we’re just two different people who understand that it’s okay to be different.
Alix: Well, I don’t think we do anymore.
Alex: And..?
Alix: And I think, we have known that for a long time. We shouldn’t have been lying to ourselves all along.
Alex: Let’s say we could start again, try and have a different future. Wouldn’t everything we say or do be measured, calculated. Wouldn’t we be trying to escape one lie only to live another?
Alix: That is certainly not the point of it all. What I want to know is do you still see us having a similar conversation on a similar day, on a similar place? Do you still picture me saying once again that what we have is possibly the best anyone could ever have?
Alex: I definitely do.
Alix: But you silence says otherwise, like there will come a day you will give up on me. You don’t know how much it scares me that someday I’ll be the only one believing in us.
Alex: Not in this life, no. What we have is the best anyone… damn it! We have the best. And I’ll always believe in that, no matter what.
Alix: I’m glad to hear that, to know that what is sort of… all we have, is the best.
Alex: Yeah, sort of all we have… and we do believe in that.

Ingenuous Discontinuous Coherence

If your mind creates and shapes your world and thus your creation, what happens when two or more independently, ingenuously woven worlds are meant to collide? You can experience this while reading, storytelling, in art exhibitions, graffiti walls and many more places. Two or more exclusive pieces seem to understand and subtly reply to each other. Different stories by different authors seem to be in continuation when it comes to the central idea. The message just above yours, in a graffiti wall, seems be related even if yours was completely genuine.
It is even more interesting when two people enter an indefinite, discreet conversation through multiple passive responses.
Now, it is indeed beautiful if the two people are unaware of the loop formed and still more beautiful if they unknowingly discover the loop, but the ambiguity doesn’t disappear. I call it ‘IDC’, Ingenuous Discontinuous Coherence.
The origin of this type of conversations is rooted in a chunk of randomness, centered on very few plausible topics, essentially passive.
 A lot happens to the very innocent thoughts through their conversion into passive dialogues, a series of interrelated monologues. The ideas in their basic form are broken down to pieces, bits incepted by the preceding message and further manipulated by the existence of an empty stretch of time.
The obscure spontaneity, thus available at the initiation, is lost with time and is taken over by obvious choices of words, colors and existent ideas from the memory. The obvious choice, the result of which is just as much unexpected as conceivable, is then lent a creative hand.
The job of the sender, now, is not just to get the message through but also to sustain the passivity, to provide the receiver with just enough of the bits and the time for return. In case the sender fails in doing so, the end of the conversation is often marked by a revelation too sharp to keep up the compliance, the partial silence, provoking the receiver to withdraw on will.
The result, of course, is a complex, concealed exchange of beautifully scattered messages flowing in an almost perfect coherence.

Questions. Call it a page from my diary if you will...

For how long before you explode do you contain the implosion? How long can you go on in search of something, how long after losing yourself? How exactly do you tell someone who doesn’t listen to go to hell?
Who is precisely the one to blame when there’s no absolute origin? Where’s the escape when everyone is so right that everything is wrong… beyond recognition, when the only legacy at every level is disappointment.
And what about the first person who discovers the glitch? Does his knowledge limit him then? Or is it to set him apart, different from others, longing to be the same?
Is this the point when the observer becomes the subject? Is this the point when he realizes that the only thing that can have the slightest of effect is a tragedy… something to be lost for something else to be seen?
When you’ve lost something, you see a lot more, things you watch every day but you do not see, or observe. Is the subject himself then to become the tragedy? Or wait… wait for something to happen, certain of just one thing… that nothing could ever. How then, do you hope… when your only fear is more than often reminded to you… when having nothing seems so safe, ‘coz it can’t be taken away from you? 
Am I wasting my time then, if I just lie, watching it pass by and everything and everyone in it … everyone, so beautifully indescribable that all I feel for them is envy.