'I didn't know that I was drunk enough to philosophise about moral relativism.'
'You never do. It just sorta creeps up on you.'
'How d'you mean?', he said, cocking his head to one side, and trying to focus, giving up midway.
The cacophony of sounds from the background, the passionate screams, pointless within seconds, the screeches as a lucky shot lands a pool ball in an unsuspecting pocket, the incredulous exclamations as someone strikes up a conversation with an extraordinary story, the cries of rapture as your song comes on, completely unexpected, the sighs of disappointment at not finding two quarters for the next fusbal game, and the sideways glances at someone you wish you were here with, as you sip your drink and try to make conversation that your mind isn't really on, the heady mixture that makes up your sustenance in the dimly lit dive permeates it as it has on so many nights before.
'Well, there're so many things. Its like that last shot of whiskey that you'll think you'll have. It lingers on the tongue, hinting at possibilities of a disconnect so effective that you think you'll be swimming in a sea of unmoored emotion, drifting around in an effervescent haze as disembodied faces and fabricated memories dip and bob and weave past your insufficiently buoyed spirits.'
I'm not quite sure I understand, but I nod anyway. I don't think I am in any position to frame an argument, nor do I think that anything good will come out of it, even if i do. She leans over to whisper in my ear, and I can smell the shampoo from her hair and the beer from her mouth. 'It comes down to evolution. Morality is a toy model for adaptability, it enforces social compatibility in a system of constructs that dictate the quality of actions based on a system of absolutes that vary with time and circumstance in the most canonically abstruse of ways.'
She's close to my ear now, so close that I can feel her breath on it. She moves an iota, and nibbles on my ear. I remain still, unsure of how to react. The set of my experiences borders on the theoretical, on the abstract, my contact with reality leaves me bewildered, and surprised at my inaction. I expected to act. Perhaps badly, in a way that I would regret later, reminiscing of rash gestures and rude comment, hormonal and pheromonal, pushy and intrusive, bold and stupid. But fresh, nevertheless. Yet, I disappoint myself, once again. Hardly surprising.
I take a deep breath, and prepare to speak. It means nothing, requires no thought, takes no effort. Open my mouth, and utter nothings. My zephyr song.
'You never do. It just sorta creeps up on you.'
'How d'you mean?', he said, cocking his head to one side, and trying to focus, giving up midway.
The cacophony of sounds from the background, the passionate screams, pointless within seconds, the screeches as a lucky shot lands a pool ball in an unsuspecting pocket, the incredulous exclamations as someone strikes up a conversation with an extraordinary story, the cries of rapture as your song comes on, completely unexpected, the sighs of disappointment at not finding two quarters for the next fusbal game, and the sideways glances at someone you wish you were here with, as you sip your drink and try to make conversation that your mind isn't really on, the heady mixture that makes up your sustenance in the dimly lit dive permeates it as it has on so many nights before.
'Well, there're so many things. Its like that last shot of whiskey that you'll think you'll have. It lingers on the tongue, hinting at possibilities of a disconnect so effective that you think you'll be swimming in a sea of unmoored emotion, drifting around in an effervescent haze as disembodied faces and fabricated memories dip and bob and weave past your insufficiently buoyed spirits.'
I'm not quite sure I understand, but I nod anyway. I don't think I am in any position to frame an argument, nor do I think that anything good will come out of it, even if i do. She leans over to whisper in my ear, and I can smell the shampoo from her hair and the beer from her mouth. 'It comes down to evolution. Morality is a toy model for adaptability, it enforces social compatibility in a system of constructs that dictate the quality of actions based on a system of absolutes that vary with time and circumstance in the most canonically abstruse of ways.'
She's close to my ear now, so close that I can feel her breath on it. She moves an iota, and nibbles on my ear. I remain still, unsure of how to react. The set of my experiences borders on the theoretical, on the abstract, my contact with reality leaves me bewildered, and surprised at my inaction. I expected to act. Perhaps badly, in a way that I would regret later, reminiscing of rash gestures and rude comment, hormonal and pheromonal, pushy and intrusive, bold and stupid. But fresh, nevertheless. Yet, I disappoint myself, once again. Hardly surprising.
I take a deep breath, and prepare to speak. It means nothing, requires no thought, takes no effort. Open my mouth, and utter nothings. My zephyr song.
