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There is always something, this indiscernible attractiveness about people with confidence. I can smell insecurity in a person akin to a dog’s nose, you won’t have to even speak a word and I can read you like a book. Naturally I don’t adamantly size people up, it is rude or is it not? Ironically at times I find it schizophrenically entertaining to speak with fidgety/clammy palms/jittery people- it makes me feel in control. This is not because I am a domineering person, just insomuch that I merely prefer having an upper hand. To be awfully frank this is not my foray in scrutinising insecure people; it is not my nature to casually hurl such critical comments about these folks all the time, but when they choose to openly announce that “were tight”, this is when I have a problem.

I admit that I have had some misjudgements and purposefully misleading gestures before, but this is not the point- I feel disgusted by the whole idea per se. Those boisterous and revolting acclamations, comments and requests are completely out of sync with my satire; and my delicate attempt to put together the image of an urban guerrilla. How do you fucking play along with a game that is no more fun?

Well interestingly there is another kind of insecure, where they will try to front you with an overtly aggressive impression. Again it is always that dishabituation reaction that is fun to tweak with; especially if you have a pretty face- now that is a plus point. The opportunity to exchange blows and tussle with such pretty face is similar to that of the Stendhal effect, unforgettable. Emotional debates about sensitized topics, watching that look of denial, and perhaps at time, silence is sweet.

Both of the aforementioned started out as a reckless misdemeanour, perhaps comparably a rendezvous expression. But like what Eros said, the reach of desire is defined in action: beautiful (in its object), failed (in its attempt), endless (in time). That contradiction of pleasure and pain, want, lack, desire for that which is missing- it is clear, this clear pursue of a common perception, that all human desire is poised on an axis of paradox, absence and presence its poles, love and hate its motive energies. A pseudo titillating triangle explains all: no one will ever desire what is not gone; the Greeks were pretty sure about it, and no doubt I am sombre upon this realization.