AND I was chatting with the old man for what seemed like hours, listening to him like we were a couple of homeless guys on the street, hovering over the industrial keg with no where to go, and then he started saying something that caught my attention,
"What I mean is, typically rules constrain the individual because of the social connotations that they hold on a person, it is rude to act this way, or poisonous to act another. In the case of poker--whether it be a hobby lifestyle or even dream--and like many potentially addictive games thus, it carries with it, at least as far as the contemporary social world is concerned, the "degenerate" connotations, and images of yellow skinned smokers huddled over an oval table in dim light, all addicted and broke. The rule being broken in this case is that invisible criteria that is filtering our social worlds which fits us into categories that people judge us with, with which we also judge ourselves with. There are of course a muddle of causality issues that go with this as well: whether or not our own judgments on ourselves--leading in some cases to depression, confidence and or self image issues--are influenced by the social world itself, regardless of that however, and to the point: there an increasing desire to be insane, which brings with it it's own rules and boundaries, a lift from these social contraptions,"
"Insane?" I interrupted.
"It is in fact the only real means to breaking free from the chain, though there are those among us who are naturally living in their own box, their sense of self is not affected by the external but is an internal process which lets them to move forward in a situation regardless of any bearings: these are those individuals with a particular gravitos about them, a sense that they will still be scaling up the mountain face to completion whether they reach the top, or fall off the face to hit the bottom, long after you leave their presence." at this point in the conversation the man who had been hiding in the shadows behind the old man, suddenly popped out to me, I don't know how long we was there but all of a sudden he became clear and with a single stride forward as elegant as a swan, stood behind the old man, at which point the old man without a groan--and even now as I recall can't remember hearing so much as the friction of fabric--collapsed to the ground, and the assailant vanished into the darkness as quickly as he had come.
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