So this dude walks into room. His brow is dark and heavy, his hands are balled and his footsteps heavy and curt and mean.
What is wrong? People naturally ask.
“I’m fucking despondent.”
I forgot to mention in my detailed description above that dude’s shirt is covered in damp patches.
And that it is raining heavily outside.
“Oh, you poor thing,” coos other person in the room. She makes a coochie-coo face and, in voice that corresponds with that face, continues, “Come here, let me give you a hug.”
“Stay the fuck away from me!” Dude spits.
Now, that is the problem. That everybody thinks this outburst, which wasn’t even that much of an outburst, given that it didn’t burst out as such—the words emanated more in the form of a sharp hiss than an outburst— everybody thinks this sharp hiss-out was somehow insensitive and cruel. After all, she was just trying to help. She was being understanding, one person says. People can be so wrong and not know it.
She was not being understanding. She was being misunderstanding. Of course she meant no harm, but please, stay the fuck away from him. Can’t you understand?
Let me spell it out. When a guy has been rained on, he doesn’t want to feel better. He doesn’t want to be cheered up. He wants to see things blow up and burn. He wants to see misery that mirrors his own. He wants to watch a school of lambs discovering that there is no Santa Claus. He wants to see a genocide in a teddy bear factory. He wants to watch the bit after Batman dashed off into the dark at the end of the movie and learn that he ran into the street without looking and was hit by a large lorry. He is ready to hear that Mao has defected to the NRM. He wants to listen the early work of DMX at loud volume. He wants to indulge his sour feelings. Not to feel better.
Now you know this. This blog is informative.