The 3lack 3ox.

"See that's what I see as a potential sticking point.  In the sense that normally in this space,  nothing is off the table  really"    [LINK] I take a miniature table from my bag - it is actually one of those plastic things you get with a pizza. and I say "There it is, there is the table". He is confused. I say, it is a symbolic table. I put it on the floor between us. I say: "There, the table has been placed - for things to be put upon", and he is still none the wiser. Me - "OK, no it is OK, I never expected you to understand it. You said something about 'not being able to put things on the table'.  He looks perplexed!  He asks, 'which table are we talking about? and I say. 'ah, it is your metaphor not mine'. He doesn't remember. I say,  "That's fine if you don't remember - but it is your metaphor - about 'not being able to put things on the table. So there is the table, to openly put things upon"...

He hands me my coffee and I'm saying:  "It's quite nice that you get a different picture on your computer screen..." My laptop is open. As he sits down he asks me..so, is this part 3'? I tell the truth " Basically I'm out of my head again, today because I've got to get my assignment done by Wednesday" He asks me if I want to talk about that assignment? Me:  "No, no, there is nothing to be done, the words are all there. I just need to read them all out and make sure it makes a coherent story. Just I realize what a constructivist I am, meanings are all created through relationships, and I don't know what the person marking the assignment wants me to say; do they want a liturgy of possible things that could go wrong? Well I will do that, but basically people want to be accepted and loved and when they are ostracized they feel terrible" He asks if this is about role play, the 'what can go wrong in a therapy session, session!'...

A rather brittle hello from me Again, we speak in unison. And in the next part of our conversation I remember why I love his company - The flow, how our words dovetail and intersect.  It proves nothing.  I think it proves that we get on. It proves nothing? I make him laugh. Then the chink of coffee cups, and spoons and cupboard doors. Falling leaves of sound, deliquescing into a room full of heavy air. Full of potential and a silence as thick as woollen blankets. This is is an old house - Each time I arrive I look down at the steps that lead to the door. I put my feet down slowly and carefully in the worn out sagging stone, to match the memory of foot-fall, and wonder who else, who else? And how they were as they stepped as I step now. Happy, sad, in love - people alive, and people  dead. He asks me if I'm warm and this sparks a conversation about water temperature. I tell him that water is now 8.5 degrees centigrade - from the tap. and he is mystified as to why I'd know ...