It is sort of something that you can’t define. It is isolated from other examples of human interaction. It is subtly repulsive and as it flashes across the faces of people who hone its rigid volatility, their eyes glaze over, pupils dilate.

It is something that I can’t really understand because my mind doesn’t bend that way. It is offensive and nonsensical and stagnantly existing within exhaled air.

My vibe will never counter the assumption it clings to. And my demeanor will never help shift its knowledge of the world in terms of the limited perception afforded to it by windows that will demolish you for the sake of their view, every chance they get.

It is the same as it will always be because it’s a decision, which is why it doesn’t respond to genuine friendliness; why it assumes that occasional politeness excuses the absurdity it is prone to.

What is it?

Judgment, small mindedness, intolerance, a superiority complex, a fear that everything different is wrong. Call it what you want, it looks the same no matter how you describe it.

Though, sometimes, I’ve found, it is actually none of those things. It is simply a defect of character usually inherent of conservative types who find free spiritedness to be a betrayal of the traps they buy for themselves, who find sarcasm offensive and spontaneity reckless.

It is exhibited by people who fit in; who compartmentalize chaos and believe karma can be good or bad.

It is mediocrity, illustrious as that may seem. It is a during-the-day bad dream that only exists on its own terms. Its eyes adorn you with surmounted disdain that elaborates on the translations it deciphers from latent observations of perfectly calm.

My ears are singing high-pitched songs about vaporizing lyrics scrawled on a bathroom wall. They are blocking out the noise.

The truth is: All of the machines are on.

Nicole Hennessy is a senior magazine journalism major and columnist for the Daily Kent Stater. Contact her at [email protected].