Yeah, usually I write more than this. Sometimes I’m all
“out to lunch”
“gone fishing”
“gone surfing”.
And so today, you can be distracted too. Here are some distractions. Happy signs.
Psycho-/Socio-
As a guide for writers, I figured I’d delineate the differences between a Sociopath and a Psychopath. These are two very similar character traits, so they are easily transposed, though they shouldn’t be because they have important differences.
The two personality disorders have many similarities. They can both be intelligent, though illogical. They both have a general disregard for life. Both can have symptoms of other mental illnesses, such as schizophrenic episodes.
To define the major differences between them, we could look at what an outline of the day would look like for each of them.
Itinerary of a Sociopath:
- Trample flowers
- Eat lunch alone (hopefully)
- Divulge every feeling, whether they want to hear it or not
- Wash hands (of everyone)
- Cough in sleeve to give the germs a luxury ride
- Boost own ego
Itinerary of a Psychopath:
- Plant flowers
- Schmooze everyone
- Keep feelings inside
- Offer someone a ride
- Exercise and eat right
- Dream of the night…
To write a character with sociopathic traits, remember they will be belligerent toward all life forms, even their own. A sociopathic human will care nothing for other humans or other humans’ feelings.
To write a character with psychopathic traits, remember they will be rather smooth and likable. They might not care for human life, but they will put on the best possible face for everyone and make it appear as if they do care.
More importantly, perhaps, are the intentions behind the actions.
A sociopathic character will be truthful to the point of being hurtful. They don’t consider others at all, so unlike legitimately sane humans who tell the truth to maintain integrity and to help others, the sociopathic personality wields truth like a weapon.
A psychopathic character will lie about everything as long as the story remains in their favor. If things start to play out against them, the psychopathic personality will change their words to manipulate circumstances.
Along With A Meal
Feel like a cat trapped inside while a flock of birds has landed in the yard?
There’s a whole lot of chasing, and catching, and victory out there. It’s visible, but out of reach. The birds strut around pecking at seeds, unaware that they are so tasty, so tempting.
Ha! Birds. They’re not even as brilliant as cats. They may be tasty, but they are so idiotic. They don’t even have an awareness of glass. A cat understands a transparent obstacle, while a bird will think it’s only more air. A bird will try to fly through the glass, only to break itself in the attempt. A cat is smart enough to find another route.
The only way out is around, so the cat goes around. The smartest hunters are patient. Whether that patience is learned, innate, or an extension of another trait is up for debate.
A cat’s patience will allow it to listen while the argument rages. Cat’s are secure enough in their intelligence to offer very little to any argument. You’ll know when the cat is done with the argument though, as the back arches and the hissing begins. If you see claws, know the debate is over and the battle has begun.
If you’re a bird and you see claws, know the time for pecking at seeds is over and the cat’s dinner has begun.
If you’re a cat trapped inside while the birds are gathering out there, taunting you with their delicious, seed-fattened bodies, find the way out, get yourself some entertainment and exercise—along with a meal.
Parades
In a simpler place, at a simpler time, a parade.
Every day at rush hours, the work parade.
Nature’s parade (a duck mother and ducklings).
Greedy for a show, the people goad the fire department into leading an extended, loud procession. A parade of fire fighters, along with anyone who wants to follow them down the street.
Life goes on. Progress throws us a vine. We climb.
A parade of televisions, washing machines, lawnmowers.
Unlikely parades: robot, psychotic, introvert, eagle, and cactus parades.
Downtown, in an alley, behind the library, a chemical parade.
Nature’s parade (a forest).
Up a working man’s arm, the scar parade.
At the store, during the panic, a T.P. parade.
The line at Starbucks in the AM: coffee parade, zombie parade.
Automobile parade. Ambulance parade. Taxi parade.
Muscle parade. Meat parade.
Across upper lips everywhere, the mustache parade.
Parade of the office lunches, a long line of yogurt cups and Cup Noodles. Soon after comes the sticky note parade.
Empty streets.
Nobody parade.
Nature’s parade (clouds racing the skies).
In all the public places, the mask parade.
Online, the tweet parade.
Underground, the ant parade.
Endless, unstoppable, yet everywhere recognizable.
Bent Shock
It’s a sad day when you see something like this. What you’re seeing in the photo above is a rear shock, which is supposed to be straight, but which is now defining a suspicious and unsafe angle. It means I jumped something a little too high or too hard, or both. It means the end of an era. In this case it means the end of life for my bike. The part would need to be remade, replaced, and they don’t make parts for this particular model any longer. The bike had a good run, a good number of years before it died. It’s a 19 pound titanium frame which, by the way, once had hydraulic brakes on it. Sometime in the bike’s lifespan I opted for a more reliable system of cabled brakes. All these great features are pointless to mention since the bike is no longer operational. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…
Speaking of brake systems, I had to bleed and refill my hydraulic brakes on my other bike. Hydraulic brakes are so primitive. To do an oil recharge is like doing a blood transfusion. You have to pump the fluid from one set of tubes to another. The general idea is to remove all the air out of the system, but also to make sure you have quality oil in there, or in other words to give it fresh blood. Apparently, if you have any sort of exposure to a brake system operating with hydraulic oil, you can get contamination like dirt or air or water in there, and then the system doesn’t work right. So then you have to start all over. You have to remove the contamination. Huh! Contamination on a mountain bike! Ridiculous! You mean I have to avoid hitting anything that might damage the delicate brake system? You mean I have to use caution while careening off a near-vertical surface, a surface decorated with nature’s best rocks and trees? Sounds about as reasonable as treating a migraine with speed metal.
Does the sarcasm come through? Can you hear it? Can you feel it? I’m hoping the sarcasm translates through the writing. I don’t have much patience or respect for hydraulic brakes. More than once, with more than one bike, hydraulic brakes have failed while I was on a trail. Confession, of course, is that I did something reckless that caused the failure. In comparison, though, if I had done the same reckless thing with cables, the cable system would have survived. And of course, since I’m also confessing that I recharged my other bike, you can see I haven’t quite learned my lesson.
How does someone learn to hear their own sarcasm?
Xenosthesia.com 