Convergent catalysing co-evolution...

Musical accompaniment: Blink-182 - Here's Your Letter

Beckett has learned to be circumspect. Getting kicked because I have a habit of having ANC earbuds in, not turning the lights on at night, and his having a need to lead the parade despite having no idea where it's headed, not to mention my sight not being as good as his will do that to you, which is why he was to the left of my trajectory as I passed, meowing at me. 

This time the noise in my ears had paused which meant the noise in my head was building back to crescendo, so he got picked up and cuddled because... 

What the fuck do you take me for? I might be a sociopath, but he's cute, his belly is soft, and for all that I built my church on the rock of logic, I'm not made of stone. 

Holding him to my chin in repose whilst his rumbling purr transmitted through my mandible it struck me how we, Beckett and I, had learned to communicate despite neither of us being capable of vocalising, let alone understanding, each other's language. That language isn't exactly what one would call "complex" or "highly nuanced". Mostly it consists of various iterations of: 

At its deepest and most existential, our communication has reached an equivalent intellectual and metaphysical level of my ultimate- and penultimate-ex's: 

and: 

Sticking my Jabra earbuds in my ears this morning and poking the button marked "Just pick up where you fucking left off seriously just make me less miserable what the fuck please?" which my phone handily abbreviates to the single, sardonic word "Play", I hit the pavement and the song which started, obvously following after the one after the one which had ended when I last stopped listening, kicked off with Mark Hoppus' unmistakable bass-riffs and vocals.  

The 95.45:1 ratio of relevant/irrelevant lines caught me in the amygdala and I filed it away under "shit to deal with more when you're drunk because in vino veritas, and you're way too sober to deal with this shit". 

Turns out that time was 12 hours, a day in the office on a random-but-not-inconsequential-for-that-Wednesday, and a bottle of discount Shiraz later, because i've taken to indulging in the habit I tried to detox myself from in my early 20's of "listening to the same song on repeat to keep me in that moment". 

I remember a completely-deserved breakup after which I listened to "Unsent Letter" by Machine Gun Felatio for a day and a half, to the point where my Aspgers housemate decided it was worth asking "R U OK?"
I remember being in London and listening to 'Cosmonaut" by At The Drive-In and "It's Myself vs Being A Man" by Inhale Exhale back and forth until one day became indistinguishable from the next. 

I remember listening to "Me, Myself, and I" by Oliver Tree again and again to help me concentrate on capturing the conceptual-synchronicity of convergent-experience of "Ian vs Being Myself" after a 2:39-hour phone call during which he told me his partner of 8ish years had dumped him. 

"Aw fuck, I mean... Jenny's nothing if not Mercurial, but.... shit. man." 

<insert some ultra-noble. self-effacing, sincerely-Ian shit right here> 

"Man, there's a blog-post in this somewhere... hang about, I'm gonna go find it." 

A little while later: 

Because if you want to declare yourself "The Smartest Motherfucker In The Room", it's a double-down. If something goes against you, regardless of what, it can never be anyone else's fault, it's mine. 

Yes, my self-reflection is self-defeating. 

Thanks for noticing! 
Your noticing has been noticed and referred to our #FuckedIfIveAFuck & #AlsoYou'reACunt Departments! 
Have a Luminescent Day! 

Now go fuck yourself in the optic nerve with a pool-cue! 

Fuck, (this isn't how I wanted it to go but) I can't let this kill me, let go
I need some more time to fix this..."

Fuck, if only I could say that without invoking TS "He Wanker" Elliot I'm sure I'd be fine. Thus spake Zarascoundrel.