Glamour

Glamour:

I went to Argos today, to no avail, they do not have what I want. How could they?

 Wokingham; the suburbs in general are a sorry lot during the weekdays, depressing, robbed of their strident and autonomous members since they are at work, in the city. Every day is like Sunday. The suburbs are a depressing combination; an old folks home come crèche. Wokingham is more than most the former.

 

With-in this over-cast suburban market town environment I saw someone.
I didn't know him but vaguely recognised him, having seen him on occasion when I used to walk home from work a while back.

A young man perhaps early twenty's or even mid-teens?

He had a perpetual awkwardness about him; and amongst all that grey lunch-time misery I felt an overwhelming sense of empathy toward him. His gate and presence betrayed something about his internal emotional world. There was a self-consciousness manifest in his physicality being a tall somewhat bulky character not blessed with good looks, he walked with a slight stoop which spoke of his discomfort regarding his height and perhaps his esteem in general- I hope not, as there was also a stoic, down to earthiness about him, he did not seem stressed, distressed, or deluded. Perhaps his life may have been devoid of glamour, and although sometimes tedious maybe there was a greater sense of contentment and ultimately peace in his day to-day. But like so many he seemed somewhat used and used-up by modern life.

Most prominently, he was walking in his uniform to work his shift at Tesco, something which I have done in times past. Thus I projected my own scrawniness in place of his bulk & my shrewish bitterness in place of  his plain gormlessness, my George in place of his Lennie.*

But I not only projected myself and my own self-pity, and all those awkward, humiliating, adolescent (and beyond) moments onto him, but also all those other individuals whom within that same troublesome timespan I had belittled, and made life uncomfortable for. All those that I had made overtly self-conscious, and insecure, had attempted to rob them of their self-esteem. Victims of the same judgemental value which I now cast upon him, and who had been found wanting.

 

Of course I only rationalise this transference now, in retrospect. At the time I just felt the urge to engage and connect in some way, via language, symbolism, or a hug, Some empathic talisman. But, of course, I did not, could not, it being socially forbidden. No, the best I could do was to try and maintain eye contact long enough in order to communicate some sort of nodding half smile.

So in place of the authentic connection all I can do, is to say that if you are attractive, carefree, successful, of high status, if you are happy, then fuck you, fuck you all the way to hell, I only want to become one of you one day, so that I can bring the whole sorry bunch of you down from the inside.

DIE

And that is De-Individuation. - defining ones self in opposition to things. (with a dash of low self-esteem)


That's how I felt at the time anyway.


[from Steinbeck's 'Of Mice and Men]

 

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Posture_(psychology)