Tuesday, April 25, 2006

Ego Avulsion: The Comedown


“I’m high... and you’re gonna listen.”

The scene abounds with clamoring clowns, who pontificate on matters they know little about. This person is not unique even in that regard. Yeah, people want to communicate with others about their feelings, joys, sorrows and imagination. However, the psychological loadsharing in a pharma-social interface exacerbates this already annoying tendency. Simply being passionate does not make them right, wasted or not. Many of these people fashion themselves as experts, however they have nil to say. It is common sense that those who overplay their ‘knowledge’ usually have the least of it. Witness the Subtotal Resection of Social Skillz.

The Conversational Hostage is given brief respite as the tongue of our interlocutor unfurls at the sight of Tittling Tail. This would be a prime escape opportunity, except for the fact that you are too distracted by this hot side dish.

GANJO-PONTIFICATORS may sidle up, analyzing things so deeply that the entire picture misses them, delving into crypto-meanings, plunging into some abyss, where their fixation-sparing lenses can’t focus on the reality under their noses. They are usually bitter, haughty types who consider themselves on a more nuanced plane than the rest of us.


Then there are the ones who are a step beyond the Easy Breathers. There is no glory in dealing with people who sidle up like this. Recreational chemistry renders any remains of social acuity defunct, subsumed by the Animosity of the Correct. While that may win him lateral component attention for incredibly bad manners and see-saw logic, it offers little more. The subject’s claims of Increased Alertness erroneously frame his psychological state as Active Perceiver. In reality, he is misidentifying social cues or wholly superimposing delusions upon his orientation grid, resulting in violently motile response sequelæ.

The night ends with all bridges burned and nothing to show; herein lies the Wanton Gestalt. The hazy chemical curtain is swept aside by the dawn, leaving our hard partier to gaze soberly at the clown in the mirror...