I wholeheartedly subscribe to this school of thought.
When I want to reccomend something that I love to someone, I don't preface it at all. I like to say, "Tell me what you think of this," and leave it at that. I may hate it. I may love it. They're dead to me if they don't come back with a matching opinion, or, at the very least, an argument for opposition so strong and well-thought-out that they can fight me on it and come out alive.
If you're known for having strong, unwaivering opinions that involve phrases like, "You're a fucking retard if you don't like this," people tend to shy away from letting you in on their true thoughts. For some reason, they really hate it when you think they're a fucking retard. It's best to fly under their radar. This method prevents people from creating an identity that only exists in your presence, thus, you get to know who they really are. Maybe after you try this, they're still your friend. Their opinions are still simmilar enough to yours to pass. They weren't just agreeing with you to keep you as a friend all along, but genuinely enjoy the same things.
It can be dishearteningly opposite though, if you find out that some of the people you once thought of as friends reveal themselves to you as pathetic saps who lack the ability to reason for themselves and co-opt whatever identity they happen to be around, including yours. No one is who you thought they were. Your friend said she loved that Arab on the Radar album you told her you were in love with but when you gave her Nelly's latest record without explanation, she loved that, too. That doesn't make sense! Things won't add up with some people.You'll find that many of your relationships were complete shams. They only had something in common with you when you were around.
Disgusting. Don't these people see that standing by your undying love and devotion for Merzbow to the point of losing friends is the only way one can be truly individual?
I salute you. Let us live like hermits and give up our opinions only when they're stolen from our cold, dead fingers.
I wholeheartedly subscribe to this school of thought.
When I want to reccomend something that I love to someone, I don't preface it at all. I like to say, "Tell me what you think of this," and leave it at that. I may hate it. I may love it. They're dead to me if they don't come back with a matching opinion, or, at the very least, an argument for opposition so strong and well-thought-out that they can fight me on it and come out alive.
If you're known for having strong, unwaivering opinions that involve phrases like, "You're a fucking retard if you don't like this," people tend to shy away from letting you in on their true thoughts. For some reason, they really hate it when you think they're a fucking retard. It's best to fly under their radar. This method prevents people from creating an identity that only exists in your presence, thus, you get to know who they really are. Maybe after you try this, they're still your friend. Their opinions are still simmilar enough to yours to pass. They weren't just agreeing with you to keep you as a friend all along, but genuinely enjoy the same things.
It can be dishearteningly opposite though, if you find out that some of the people you once thought of as friends reveal themselves to you as pathetic saps who lack the ability to reason for themselves and co-opt whatever identity they happen to be around, including yours. No one is who you thought they were. Your friend said she loved that Arab on the Radar album you told her you were in love with but when you gave her Nelly's latest record without explanation, she loved that, too. That doesn't make sense! Things won't add up with some people.You'll find that many of your relationships were complete shams. They only had something in common with you when you were around.
Disgusting. Don't these people see that standing by your undying love and devotion for Merzbow to the point of losing friends is the only way one can be truly individual?
I salute you. Let us live like hermits and give up our opinions only when they're stolen from our cold, dead fingers.
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