don't think there's a handle on this one
Y'know you're not much even by your own standards when every little thing that comes up needed to be measured by a friend-o-meter. Dress looking good? I dunno, what would XYZ wear? Uhm, sorry but I don't think Summerland would have fit in with the rest of ABC's to-read list. Well, bugger all that to high-fucking hell. Not all of us are as bad as what I've just described, in fact that was an exaggerated example to bring my point home , but none of us can deny the touch of a friendly influence. That booming sound (silent to us at first, but oh mighty loud to those who know 'the before' ) from the collision of solitary bubbles, the intermingling of air space, the giant cauldron of cultural soup.

Take a sip, it's quite tasty. That's the zest of social butterflies. Tastes like lemons. Fresh, cheek-suckingly sour, with a fleeting aftertaste. This is all purely fictional of course, not that a socially defunct piece like me would understand. But I do like to imagine it.

Of course some people follow other people in an attempt to be polite, sociable even. Gotta hand it to these charlatans. If life wasn't something you were quite born to deal with, then you might as well try and hoodwink it. It's all fine and good while there's still a clear line between lie and sociopath though, but what happens when they blur into each other? What happens when a misogyny pretending to be human ends up realising he's one of them after all? A snivelling, pack-driven, trustless walking talking flesh and blood wrapped in skin and forgery.

Forgery, yes. We're all a bunch of copyycats carving pieces of themselves in other peoples' (of other peoples') block of personality. The first step in becoming a respectable, sociable, working adult is accepting this. Or at least a minimally functioning half-stuck-in-between-teenage-fantasies-and-real-life.

Suck on that.

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