Implosion vs. explosion.

I was listening to two kids argue philosophic theology this weekend.
There’s nothing I enjoy more than watching an intellectual argument.
Blood vessels dilate, the intensity of the subject matter nearly induces pupil mydriasis, and it’s almost like the impulses that make up pure thought are visible as each person tries to prove the ultimate supremacy of their own ideas.
Nobody wins, of course, because there’s no arbitrary entity with the authority to say, “You’re right, and you’re wrong.” Except God, but I guess that’s where argument begins in the first place, and that’s how it’s doomed to end. It’s all up in the air, maybe even more so than before the conflict started.

I don’t usually argue with anyone.
I’d rather listen than talk, because I value a chance at observation over anything I’ve got to “prove” (which, as we’ve just covered, would ultimately get me nowhere).
It’s not that I don’t have ideas or beliefs that I’m passionate about (far from it), it’s just that unlike most people, I’m my own little AP Bio example. Forcing my random, rapidly firing thoughts inward, I increase the entropy of my total consciousness, but decrease the entropy of the universe because they’re all going inside of me and not out into the open to collide with the thoughts and ideas of others.
To satisfy the second law of thermodynamics, I think I am eventually doomed to implode.
Of course, I’m familiar with a kid who is pretty much my polar opposite in this area, and sometimes I think he might EXplode.
He’s so vocal that whenever he has a thought/idea/problem/comment/conflict, everyone has to know about it.
I think this must be lonely.
Everything you said would be released out into the open, beyond your limited sphere of control, and you’d burn your fingers trying to clutch the white-hot wisps of radical thought that were once yours as they ultimately escaped you. You and the world would stand as helpless spectators while mutations of the same idea contradicted themselves, zooming around in directionless frustration as they tried to hit something—somewhere—that resonates with the pure frequency of truth, which might not even really exist.

This is intellectual torture.
No one can escape it, but I can contain it.

I’d rather implode than explode.