My friend or co-worker went on one of his agreement sprees and it stopped me cold. I said I can butter myself up, thank you, I've been self-buttering for years. If someone agrees with me I'm embarrassed for both of us. Once nodding commences it never stops, in fact its vigor usually intensifies. People are too relieved to be able to agree, almost grateful. If someone finds themselves agreeing with you and you keep on talking and they keep on agreeing, at some point they're just going to agree with whatever you say because it's too awkward not to, they decide against inserting a mild objection, they don't want to lose the friendly momentum. The head overbobs, it oversells the moment, and they say: Absolutely! To be of one mind makes fools of us I'm sure you'll agree, or pretend to agree. If someone disagrees with me I feel pricked, then deflated, finally flattened. I feel like a bulky obstacle obscuring the reality of things, like a pillar or mound, blocking the rays of truth, causing the peonies of suchness to wither, or like unwelcome gauze, or summery curtains, or cataracts. So I want neither to be agreed with nor disagreed with, just like I want neither to be noticed nor ignored, so for instance I want someone to read these things I write, but not too many people, but then again not too few people, and I want them to agree with me, but not too much, and by the same token not too little, but not disagree too much either, or disagree too little, and of course these thresholds are variable, from day to day, hour to hour and even moment to moment, so much so that no one could possibly know whether they are agreeing, disagreeing, noticing, or not noticing me too much or too little, at any randomly selected point in time.