You are as perspicacious as you are disdainful. I am reminded of one of my favourite quotes (and Zizek's, incidentally) by G.K. Chesterton:

"Literature is a luxury; fiction is a necessity."

It would require an essay, or perhaps a book or two, to adequately explore the topics your article deftly touches on here. One can never say enough, can one? After years of language games I have learned something of the value of silence, acceptance, and, love. Not Eros, but true unconditional love known by sages of all cultures and creeds. There lies Truth. Not in the limits of knowledge, cultural analysis, or the intellectualising of the "real" (though these things definitely have a place).

But perhapse "love thy enemy" is a phrase you might balk at? Can you love the gentlemen, for all his flaws and perceived ignorance, fittingly fiddling with his mobile, parroting views he's yet to fully deconstruct? When I can be like St Francis, Zosima from "The Brother's Karamazov", or Ram Dass after his stroke perhaps I will be able to love him? I spent a lot of my years putting undue stock in intellect before the universe put me to the grindstone. Humility was thrust upon me. Had I not suffered so acutely, I doubt I would have acquired what wisdom I have. Not everybody has that opportunity, so with humility came an abstention from judging others.

Intelligence is a word, first and foremost, describing a spectrum broad enough to render it's application untenable. But I know enough to know it isn't always commensurate with wisdom. I love reading your writing, and I say this without condescension (truly) but, from what little I can glean from this simulacra, I see something of myself in you. I'd simply say, if you don't already, meditate a little if you can. Practice loving kindness for that unsuspecting advocate of polyamory, and gratitude for your ability to see a little deeper. I wish you well, sincerely.