Who is this person and what does he want. How will I know him and how can he tell me, when only a few occasions forces me to judge him. The practice of pretence they call first impression is anything but reality manipulated for the occasion. Adapted, styled, fashioned and shaped. Tailored, for an outcome that favours the pretendant.

Decades of character filled with relations some that are worthy and other less so, cannot be presented in a manner that can be genuine for who would want to project the self, as someone less than perfect. Yet even some smart ones divulge some weakness, but only to show he’s a human being, and hope the recipient sees virtue in the honesty that facade’s the deep truth.

Profitable are those that teach the art of deception, with book-filled shelves on how to become a master, making a tragedian out of a genuine person, and become innocent and blameless for past history’s errors and faults. Proficient does he become in pleasing his prey, providing the right answers, akin to the sound of music to a listening ear.

Like a good fisherman he knows his bait, the art of allurement, seduction is his trait. Evolution has made large brains, for this reason they say, and why would I argue when the animal finds his mate. We compete for what can be believed, there is no room for anything real, no time, no space, no tolerance for mistakes. Survival of the fittest, in this skill we have sway.

Such values of long-term companions with known faults have become rare, people actually believe a better world is out there, finding someone else, with no faults is the way. Brainwashed of will we have become, inflicted beaten down by morality that has been bestowed on us by those that say what’s right from wrong. Being oneself has become a disgrace.

No wonder, the words trust no one has become ingrained, in stone, in mind and in society as a whole, since only self-interest can truly be sincere and no one wants that except for themselves. The courage to say what we want has become so wrong, that believing in illusions has become the new moral code.

I don’t know who I am. Shy I have become to face this world, purged of those, that are honest for themselves and never are they seen to care for someone else’s regard. Always beaten by those Nietzsches, that have the courage and no shame in pursuing what they desire, or those that are good and righteous, they proclaim and may be they are, like Socrates true men to the end.

Stuck in between two states I am, a fractured mind that cannot be reconciled. Beating myself for what I want, and beating myself for what I can’t give. No interest or time do I have for that they call small talk anymore.