Scarcasm, a new word.
The effect of sarcasm on someone who likes the sarcastic person, but who can’t get a word in edgewise. Eventually, the person gets it that they aren’t ever going to be liked no matter how many times they try. It is also the signs of someone wanting to break it off with you. “When will this person get it? I have been so mean!”
This person has power over the other person because they have something the other person wants, whether sex, friendship, to be acknowledged by, to be seen as a part of their intellectual class, whatever. The power dynamic is usually one, where the other party would be willing to receive insults. These insults attack the recessive person’s self-esteem chipping away until finally the recipient believes that the relationship is so scarred that there is no point in continuing. (“No one wants to be with someone who doesn’t want to be with them.”) But, underlying the relationship, not that there ever was one, is the idea that while the sarcastic person thinks they are being cool or clever, he/she is actually making a fool out of themselves because to harm another person, who is genuine and sincere, is ignoble. The fact that the recessive person only sees the good in the person being mean is proof of their own goodness/correctness in this dynamic/relational event(s). It is the same as bullying, where the psychology behind the act is a transference from the past or associative experience that causes the sarcastic person to be mean, but what is horrible is that the sarcastic person does not take ownership or perhaps they can’t, an injury is still an injury. In addition, the sarcastic person sees weakness in the other person. That weakness is akin to the weakness the sarcastic person reacts to in him/herself often without realizing it or even taking evil satisfaction in the application. In this sense too, the sarcastic person is still being weak for attacking another person, who exhibits recessiveness/innocence that they themselves have: The abused abuse.
I also find this behavior in cliques, where even the seemingly nicest people: religious, new agers, hipsters, etc. have limits as to who they include. This limit speaks of the inherent incapacity of human beings to ever truly get along with everyone else.
How used in a sentence.
It finally dawned on him that he was spinning his wheels. He cared about her, but it was pointless. She hated him for some reason unknown to him. No matter how kind he was to her, how complimentary, she would always respond to his posts or even in person with a coldness that kept him at bay. When they met it was through her work, which was perhaps the antithesis of his own. He wrote about how men looked and thought about women, which from her point of view was suspicious and nasty. He understood her perspective and respected it, but in so doing, it felt like he was being negated. He was open to her and infatuated. She was almost half his age. She was 30 and he 55. She had a clear complexion. She was thin and sexy. Every word she mouthed was an act of intelligence, but they also felt like veiled threats. He initially attacked her for things attributed to her in an article about her writing, but later he realized that there was nothing he could say. The layers of her criticism of men were steeped in an underlying event that forever changed her. She had been raped. All bets were off. She was anxious. She smoked marijuana and had a medical marijuana card because of the anxiety it had caused. She wouldn’t actually meet his eyes but for looks that were attentive but also weighty and seemingly plotting. She was always careful with her words, but they hurt him. She was always correct. Everything he talked about seemed to be of no consequence. His total life experience, his honesty, and his very being seemed to be negated by her experience. She said he reminded her of an ex. He took that as a compliment, but then again perhaps it was not. Perhaps, her ex- was the one who created this exacting and vacant woman, who he could not help but be drawn to. After all, she represented, or at least her work represented, the great chasm that men and women could not cross. They had different intentions for getting involved with one another that never seemed to be compatible. At one point, he realized that such relationships were about power. He wanted to know what she knew and she held it over him with her indifference and insults. He was attracted to her and she cursed him for it, made him feel like it was unacceptable.
As time went by he had bought her books, which were at least five in number. He loved each one because he could see in them a depth that her spare writing disguised. He loved how they were written and felt to his ears. The protagonist in her latest novel, for example, was both interested in her lover but also at a distance. It reminded him of a poetry book that was based on a femme fatal, who also seemed to have been injured and who was attracted to damaged men, who were much older and almost like criminals compared with her lithe, virginal beauty.
This is what she meant to him. She was exactly what he wanted, someone young and intelligent and impossible in any other context, except that she encouraged a kiss and even allowed him to kiss her stomach, where she was complaining about how fat she was getting, which of course was not true. She was petite and it distorted him. He could feel her spirit saying no. Her never actually looking into his eyes, so much body language telling him not to go any further and so he did not. But later, she would text him and ask him why he didn’t continue kissing her on her lips or on her stomach. He said he felt a coldness, a disallowance.
He learned from a third party that she was now “In love;” not with him, of course, and knowing this, confirmed his suspicions. He tried to stay away from her, she frightened him. On the last occasion, he has promised to buy her book. He was excited by it, but when he arrived, at the corner of so and so, it was awkward. She was never so far away. She wasn’t even attractive to him. She seemed dirty and sinister. Her teeth were, he assumed, darkened by the weed. As usual, her hair in black-highlighted, thick curls reminding him of dreadlocks, was tilted as she seemed to look down as they engaged in the transaction. He had promised to pay double for her book, but only had two twenties. He gave her both telling her to keep the rest. He said he wanted to support her.
He understood the awkwardness of being attracted to someone, who clearly didn’t like him on the level he was beginning to understand himself. He sensed her entertaining him, the kisses, two in number, were like exhibits in a case against him. If not for the lines he drew in the sand, he could understand how other men might not draw them. He knew on some level, she was playing a dangerous game, but her intentions were innocent; she just wanted to control what for her was not controlled in the instance that brought all this on. Some other man had done a number on her and he was now paying reparations.
At this point, he finally realized there was no point in going on. He would read her books and perhaps comment on them as his heart felt they were true and call it a day.