Flash! Fiction by Peter McMillan - HTML preview
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61
"Do you want me to understand you—I mean, what would you like me to know about you?" answered the older, wrinkled head, his eyelids rolled down again, as he readied to make notes.
"This is what I mean. Being labyrinthed. That's what's happening to me. Don't you understand?"
"I'd like to understand. Can you tell me what you're feeling, right now, for example?"
"Did you know that in one of the uncivilized regions of equatorial Tlӧn they don't even have the concept of person? No way to distinguish between you and me or me now and me five years ago. It’s fascinating but I can't really imagine it for more than a few minutes at a time. It's like I'm programmed to see the world one way. Do you know what I mean?
"And how does that make you feel?"
"That's an irritating habit you have, you know?"
"Could you describe what it is that you find irritating?"
"When you describe someone—like me, for example, in your notebooks—would you say that you understand me?"
"Well, there are important differences. Description is just part of understanding. There's also causality."
"And identity?"
"I suppose, yes, identity is fundamental."
"So, if you got that wrong, you'd have everything wrong, right?"