Male Intuition

Alas, the disadvantages of advantage.

Playing ones hand always so close to the chest,

folding aces on a regular basis.

I am growing particularly resentful of my perceptive abilities; though it could also be said that I am growing particularly resentful of those whom I happen to accidentally probe. Yet how can I condemn the practice of polite deceit when I implore it regularly? By succeeding, I suppose, where others seem to fail miserably in front of me. I wonder if they, in turn, recognize in my own eyes their inability to convince me of anything beyond their vague desire to neutralize and please me. I am somewhat proud of the amount of care I take to convince others of false opinions (my, that is a lovely jacket..), and find their own efforts pathetic, lazy, and futile. I’m quite content with being patronized and deceived, as long as it’s successful…a feat which, more and more, seems difficult to accomplish. Perhaps it’s simply a bitterness for a fading respect for such a small handful of favored individuals; not exactly directed towards their actions, but rather towards the grounds and heavens. I consider people I respect to be rare jewels, and find myself saddened when I watch them turn to copper before my very eyes. In such cases with most individuals I don’t hesitate for a moment to seize the lie by the throat, and thrash it wildly about; all while grinning and laughing hideously in it’s timid face…but in the unexpected case when it comes from someone who I’m predisposed not to harm, I find myself very touched by the gesture, rather than thrilled– though it isn’t the touch of a beautiful and gentle woman, but rather a limp pair of sly and greasy man-fingers sliding down the front of my pants, while another hand pats my head like a doll. Even still, frustration aside, a code is a code…and I fold.