Tired matter

Steve claims he is not capable of love. We're never sure if he's serious given his half-crazy attitude and outlook on life (a cultured sense of difference that by now could be reflexive) but tonight as always he was at least adamant. And impervious to opinion and analysis outside himself. I am not sure why I delight so much in conversation with this gadfly although after two hours of intense back and forth nonsense I finally understood his essential argument and all of its delightful generalizations and flaws. I am not sure if he could ever say the same for me - we can know so little of what truly exists in anyone's head and his stubbornness of observation suggests that I, by comparison, plausibly hold some of the same characteristics. Maybe that's what I see in Steve - a more liberated (from social strictures and control) version of myself, for better or worse, spouting nonsense in a momentary attempt to gain some kind of grasp on a world that always seems to slip one step ahead, into the breech, twisting up craggy caves and through whispered silences looking for the comfort of an accepting voice.