Sometimes I talk to people who don't seem to care about anything I say. For most of my life I was convinced that this type of person was a little wacko and had some sort of social maladjustment and that I was the advanced and sympathetic conversationalist.
However, I have come to realize now that there is practically no one left who cares to engage in conversation with me, and that most people much prefer to engage with the "wackos" and "psychopaths."
They are just more interesting.
The "wackos" and "psychopaths" have been busy with their lives- traveling throughout the world, making tons of money, fucking a lot of women-while I basically stayed put, apparently trapped inside the prison of my own boring mind. While I am not sure what the wacko geniuses ever dreamed of (they seemed to just enjoy their daily lives while being able to mysteriously stuff ungodly amounts of information into their brains) I longed merely to own some property in the country and make a go at farming.
I do not know if this dream of mine formed as a result of sub-conscious realization on my part that I was not going to be very competitive in the marketplace (which I never have been) or was actually a lifestyle that would have made me happy in some way. It doesn't matter; I was never able to make even this quite tepid of life goals come true. In fact, I have never even been close.
So, that is why hardly anyone listens to me anymore. Although I have tried, I never really found myself or made a stable life. Even people that don't know me seem to sense this in some way and when they hear me speak must begin to realize my knowledge has been gained merely through study and not experience.
And it is experience with it is concomitant tangible and visible manifestations which are truly respected by others. Knowledge without experience is nothing and quite meaningless.
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