Waterwheel

Posted: October 28, 2012 in Uncategorized

Everyone in this town is a slob. They’re all pieces of driftwood in designer shirts, standing around with their plastic cups, talking about their nothings. I slide out from my cave, I mingle, I pretend, I mimic their patterns of speech, their interests. I nod my head to their simple ideas, their simple music, their simple lives. Not out of some kind of guerrilla altruism or condescension, but because I need it. I need people to be around, to interact with, and my options are sadly limited.

The need to speak and express and communicate is a question of self-validation, really. An echo chamber would work just as well if you didn’t understand the scientific principles behind it. A person just needs to be able to say the things he thinks, feels, and believes, and have it reverberate back into his ears via repetition, agreement, or difference. The latter is often seen as a something undesirable, but in reality it allows a person to be more in-depth, to add a level of heat to their opinions that otherwise goes unused among people who feel the same way. And that is the story of how I got a black eye and why my good khakis smell like a whiskey sour.

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