In school, the corral of misfits and outsiders I'm leagued with, we seem to share the burden of some chip to carry on our shoulders. Some are so overt and outright in trying to outdo the others. There are characters who work in the safest lines, that cite buddies for security in numbers. I'm not about to go on syphilitic rants with my only ally being Nietzsche and similar intellectually fecund patrons of prostitutes, but I'm not going to hide in what is safe.
It's amazing to be given material that I would dismiss if I were ever to even encounter it, for labels like "Modernism" stink to me of the language in transience. "What is it we're really talking about?" I can not ask myself. I have to play by the rules, no matter how offended I am by other players' characters or nature. In truth, I have to humbly defer to the modes of discourse prescribed, because, honestly, they're foreign to me and I suppose I'll need them to talk like them.
It reminds me of a dinner party I was roped into going to. The other guests were all older, aspiring middle class suburban urbanites. They could parrot out the media's memes, and frowned and shooed my discordant challenge to the fact that they're ignoring wholesale the great context outside of what the news anchors serve them. I have to converse with the table of my peers, and if the rules are we can only use what the news anchors are saying (and truly, these are much more esteemable sources than television newspeople) then until I find a way to cheat, I will play by those rules.
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