Finding Conclusions

At my first company I had no friends on one did, not really. We were too nerdy to have normal friends, easily bored and all the socially inept engineer cliches. So we were shy as fuck, but I knew from experimentally proven data that authenticity is contagious – so began my strategy in rounding up these idiom-ridden misfits into an emotionally connected team. I was loud, too excited, intrusive in there personal live, I remembered and frequently referenced everything I learned about them. My actions were BOLD. The authenticity must have successfully transplanted at least 10% because it was one of the happiest time in my life. Termination was inevitable. I wanted it to be artistic, an ode to the personalities who were fired before me. It was ok for my first time.

3 years later

I like to think that when I told T the following: “my best friend told me I was an embarrassment to the company when I was fired” he didn’t then go on to believe this figment of his imagination, this figment that was once my friend (an electrical engineer at a company inventing life saving products, most likely male, most likely intelligent) was correct in twisting the knife in me by taking the side of a companie’s need to perpetuate censorship disguised as professionally. No, he can’t be that easy to manipulate? I used this technique in all the time in high school and the early years of college on “certain types” if I needed some red tape cut to join a filled class or something. I knew they’d take my opinion more seriously if I told them that someone else had said it, and I’d paint that person with all the qualities of whatever I stereotyped them to believe as the pinnacle of success. Frat boys – wall street finance gods. Engineers – start up CEOs working on some complicated shit. 11th grade English teacher – my Honor student friends. That alone doesn’t work, it only makes them administer a test to see if what the imaginary all-star said is true (a lot of people want them to be wrong), and I can tell I failed the test to T. I couldn’t speak loud enough at parties, I was too socially anxious – there must’ve been some truth to being called an embarrassment if your best friend said it to you at your weakest. He stopped inviting me to parties. Lesson learned.

I don’t Get Modern Art but I’m good at Making it

I don’t like art, not modern art, mostly, it’s inflated. The billowing blanket on the floor may be intentional to someone as by the books as T(you). I know you’re by the book by the look of surprised confusion you gave me when I asked to try riding your bicycle, “you’re too small” you said. I know it’s illogical, trying on mens’ things to get a laugh out of people ((waring, the following could be construed as petty:(That’s the source of new ideas, trying things for no good reason and sometimes it goes on to fractalize into a new genre, like a the conception of life, a discovery that, if you wanted, could be it’s own course at a prestigious college, a dissertation, a podcast, but probably won’t because most conceptions don’t carry through to develop into adult disciplines because insecurity in combination with sunk-cost fallacy is a bitch…(I’m not this cynical anymore, I swear, I got help, I just am good at emulating it))). The billowing blankets isn’t art to someone like me, to most, because that fan-blanket assortment seems like it would happen by accident in my attempt at trying to reroute cool air to a part of my apartment that I had imagined as air circulatory deficient.

I thought reading the descriptions of paintings ruins them, Banksy doesn’t need descriptions.

That Audrey Hepburn movie, she’s so pretty, and the outfits are so classy, and at some point I could suspend my disbelief that all it took to influence a crowd was that, class and looks. The truth is though that the movie is boring, I get the gist by reading the wikipedia plot and looking at the pictures. They lied when they called it a classic – these movies are the foundation for nothing more than cosmetic industries and adolescent classification by appearance culture.

If you never want to be at a loss for words put your self in front of a crowd. I love the crowd. It’s a strange thing I discovered in freelance anthropology. I can relate the combined mind of an audience better than I can to any single mind. A crowd lets you in to their sickest deepest parts, a crowd feels no vulnerability, no shame and as a result is easy to penetrate. Individuals have their guard up.

If you ever do visit this realm you’ll learn a lot about what derives voice, a voice people want to listen to. And you’ll find that hatred is a great source of humor, hatred will always resonate with some deep internal part of a fraction of the crowd while repelling another. Strange moment – I just learned to polarize, dive and conquer, some mathematical strategy to use on any group of human’s in the pursuit of whatever my values might eventually settle into. I wonder if I would ever use this intentionally, what it would take?