An Irksome Ambiance.

There is fuckupedneses abounding. And it revolves around a motion picture.

A picture in motion of a person, and he talks and he strolls, and has pens, pencils, cardigans. He eats food probably, drinks beer, most likely. He wears ties. I called him a person, but I really don’t want you to think I meant it.

And he talked to a camera. A camera watched this guy and he talked and he looked at the glass lens, and he said words. From his face. From his brain – that’s where communication came from. Is that where all of this communication came from?
I talk out from my brain to be sure – scientifically – emotionally it feels like it’s elsewhere.
So where does he talk from. His brain made the words but where did he feel it – those words that he said – representations of thoughts that he actually had.

And he winked. At the camera. While he said things, he winked once.
And you wonder who he saw in that lens. That’s most frightening.
Was he picturing the people about whom he talked? Was he picturing the people whom he’d yet to meet? Was he picturing a secret? Was he picturing his own pride, does he see himself – when he says what he says? Or was he picturing the masses of people, who will watch this movie. The people who never knew about him to begin with, and so now he will be ingrained in minds like mine.
And it bothers me because that means he thinks this movie is about him. When really it’s about the institution that nurtures him. “Nurtures” – it’s appropriate, but understand it is full of hate.

He’s alive. You know that. You have to know that. He might be flat on a screen, but that representation of him is almost as fucked up as the words that he says which are indicative of things that go on in his head.

For example – people lie in court. What comes out of mouths as words in high pressure situations are never accurate. It’s often scared. And there are rises of challenges, and you know he manipulates conversation – as he says what he says – he lies. Because he knows exactly what’s happened. Because he’ll say it exactly and then say it differently. That’s not behaviour of disassociation. That’s Primal Fear. There is no consequence for him. He doesn’t feel regret, even if her verbalized it.

I hate people who lie. To a face. Whoever’s face, mine yes, but others too.

It was too easy to justify it. And it was unnecessary for him, to justify himself, until someone asked him: Why?

And that’s when those words started.