Anyway. Here's what I found that was interesting enough to repost (it was from a while ago, and I was very angsty, angry teenager [despite how well-dressed and like, lol, like... TOTALLY popular I was *hair flip*]):
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The art of manipulation
Thursday, December 01, 2005
So I'm sitting here sick and pondering. Already bad. But not half as bad as when I'd sit and ponder under the influence of something. Like that rotting reed smell when I open my sax case or the fumes I inhale at BOCES.
Manipulation fascinates me. When all the negativity that's usually aligned with manipulation is stripped from its definition, you're left with creation. People learn how to assert their quick wit and thus master the art of evincing results from their subjects without physical force. Ideally. When manipulation is put to force, it's called torture. Or worse, Stagecrew.
Right now, with simple words and innocent phrasing techniques, I could convince a lot of the dimly lit people that read my blogs that I'm leaving this place. That I'm biding my time before the flight leaves in Syracuse for Rockport, then onto a few more ports along the coast before I finally land in Australia to start a new life. That my postcards to all of my sympathetic friends will dominate the international postal service, and, maybe when the timing's right, I'll return home for a quick visit before shoving off again. That I'll miss everyone desperately, and I truly believe that I'll become the loving person that everyone's known once or twice, and leave behind this angry facade I carry so proudly. My goal is sympathy.
And how many people do you think would give it to me? Even after I post another few entries about bus tickets in Australia, and forwarded emails from the Embassy, saying it's A-OK for me to take up permanent residence?
It's harmless. And I'd have forced my friends to succumb to my will, craving the "Goodbye!"s and the "I'll miss you!"s. If I never left, I'd only obtain, "Thank God you're staying, I don't know what I'd do..."s. Everyone does it, and in most cases, they're being sincere. It isn't negative, as I mentioned above, but it's still the art of pre-understanding. The unconscious knows the emotions of its cohorts and can therefore play off them. I should know.
I do it all the time.
The hardest emotion to conquer is fear. I've been able to bedevil people into frenzies, lure people into lovetraps and mold personalities to my benefit, but I've never been able to strike fear in someone. Sure, I might've been able to rustle up some inconsequential, awe-inspiring respect that looks and feels like fear, but no one's ever chilled when I enter the room, or watches everything they say so as to not incur whatever wrath I can throw together.
Headache's here. It's been fun.
I really just think it's neat that I was thinking about rhetoric before I ever had any formal rhetorical training. It's destiny, I guess. I also guess that this means I can't really demand a refund.
Damn it.
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