Tavern Conversations

“Formulations, plans, decisions, call them what you will, it’s all a fabrication that you are feeding into, complete and utter bullshit that you have been programmed to believe, there is nothing within everything, and everything within nothing”

the blind man whispered sharply as he took a long pull from his pipe, it had been long without conversation, and tonight’s stranger proved to be the eager contender when it came to the art of open discussion, that which was dying more and more rapidly with each and every passing day.

They sat among drunks, prostitutes, lawyers and carpenters, for all frequented the nightly indulgence of numbing the senses, if only to engage on a deeper ethereal level.

“You speak for yourself clearly, projection is a common ploy that we utilize in order to convince others of our own importance, tell me, for the first and final time, why exactly you are toiling away, awaiting death, blocking out your gifts and curse, so that you may at last succumb to nothingness?”

The cloaked man, whose face was scarred and painted, asked ever so subtlety.

It took the blind man a moment to respond, for he was not taken aback, but frustrated,

“you my friend, have much to experience and learn, you take not what I have to say in, however you project it in turn, to distract yourself from your own grievances, I simply speak to you, not in the dialect of complexity, but in truth, and the truth is, I have no idea what the fuck I am talking about, and neither do you, so let’s cut to the chase, shall we?”

the blind man said with a sly grin, although the two had been speaking for hours, little ground seemed to have been made, despite that fact, the two continued to rebuttal one another, if only for sport, for the sake of the game of life some would say, and indeed it was good sport.

“What chase are we speaking of, for I could regurgitate countless fallacies in your eyes and nonetheless, still have learned nothing, so speak, if you will, for I am at a loss”,

the cloaked man ordered another round of whiskey for the both of them, despite the fact that he alone was drinking, and the elder had touched not a drop of alcohol since the two had met,

“there is nothing to say, the end. that would be the beginning of every honest story, despite that fact, we humans are story bound, and you are invoking a story out of me, thus I must reply in kind to you. It begins, as all good stories do, with a problem, followed by a reaction and at last, a solution”

the older man laughed as he finished the sentence, for in his eyes, it seemed to be a comedy, a tragic one certainly, but a cosmic giggle nonetheless, the cloaked man nodded and sipped his drink, awaiting the story further.

“This is the end, don’t you see? It has already begun, what more do you want, do you wish me to write for you? What’s the fun in that? You are within your own world, that is fine, as I am within mine, we share the same confines but the story unfolding before thee is radically different from that which has and shall transpire before me, however we are apart of the same narrative, a tricky statement certainly, but read into your own story and fulfill your own role, otherwise enjoy it, there is nothing in everything, and everything within nothing.”

nothing was to be said after the final repertoire, the elderly gentleman, who claimed to be blind, swiftly made his exit in an orderly manner.

Leaving the cloaked stranger alone, drinking, and for the first time in a while, rather confused.

Confused in the sense that his own beliefs, which had been accumulated over a lifetime, they were questioned, yet what was to be done.

After all, the world was exactly as it was before their encounter, yet an eerie feeling hung in the air.

“I see your boyfriend left, would you care for some company?”

A woman approached quickly, eager to fill the void of mystery left stagnating after the disappearance of the local blind man, who scarcely said a word, left suddenly after a lengthly discussion with the newcomer.

Without hesitation, the cloaked man ordered another round, in hopes that his next discussion with this beautiful specimen would render him numb rather than to the absolution of truth.

A painful realization, if ever so vain, and ever so important, and ever so beautiful, indeed what a horrible and gratifying acknowledgement, for the cloaked man realized that he was nothing, pretending, feigning and attempting, rather than portraying.

A painful enough realization indeed, that he settled into the numb indulgence of his alcohol and sobering conversation provided by his newfound companion, she asked, “what is this even all about?”


Categories creative writing, poetry, writerTags , , ,

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