A great wave of paranoia passed over him. For memory and clarity he decided to write it down. When he looked at the page he thought, “That’s really beautiful. The words are so beautiful I want to put my cock in it.”
This of course being the way he showed beauty that he saw beauty in it, most of the time. There were times when he would just SAY, “You’re beautiful,” but sometimes one must SHOW rather than SAY.
Even if the instant lasted only an instant, even if the beauty was not beautiful to anyone else but him at that perfect drug-addled moment, he’d go for it. Whiskey on his breath, lungs black from the delicious smoke. He would show it, hold it, spit on it, annihilate it to tears and scalp the beauty. Holding the hair and licking the bloody underside before rubbing it onto the smooth skin of his face. He was victorious, but for why? To what end? Victory is a fucking fool’s game anyway. Played by players. Games are for players. Fighting to win a losing game anyway. Victory is fleeting because the next victor will inevitably push the previous victor down the hill. Weren’t we talking about beauty?
Those moments, those instances, those longings, were expressed by him on the page with ink and a cock shot (taken from an angle where it looks the biggest of course.) Never really knowing why he expressed this way, (Not the cock shot, he knew what that was for.) Probably because he wanted to be the good one in the equation, always and forever.
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You wrote this, yes? So beautiful. This beauty discussion has been going for several weeks mainly with me and myself. We talk a lot you know?
I read a quote that’s been keeping this topic at the forefront. i’m paraphrasing…
“…all of which has generally lead to the conclusion that nobody and nothing can be trusted. Because the world is so corrupted, misspoken, unstable, exaggerated and unfair, one should only trust what one can experience with one’s own senses… In a world with disorder and disaster and fraud, sometimes only beauty can be trusted. Only artistic excellence is incorruptible.”
of course this makes me think about me (and my job on the planet) and you (and yours) as artists, shit starters, thinkers… and so i’m spending a lot more time than normal thinking about what i want to DO with the fact that i have a skill that is POSSIBLE of providing the incorruptible thing… this feeling…this beauty. And the connection to sexual impulse that beauty can bring. So basic and pure, I think. For me, as a woman, it’s like “It’s beautiful I want it to merge with the beauty that I am.” For guys I think it may be different.
Reminds me of a time I was working on a project with a totally platonic guy friend. He’s cute and all but ya know, no big deal. So at one point we’re working and it just starts going around in my brain “Ok, let’s make out now…we should probably just make out now.” It’s our programming. *What we’re doing together makes me happy, let’s see how far we can take this happiness and connection* …
Who sent you? You said you would never read my blog and now I find you here? Not only here, but with “them at your heels.” Did you lead them here?
Have you been lurking me? I’m calling the fucking army of hell and they are going to rain down fire upon your cheating skull with such determination that nothing will be left of you.
Oh yeah, BTW I DID write this and beauty is a wondrous and precious social and earthly commodity. How have I spent so long destroying beauty instead of cultivating it? Why have I not been sowing those seeds instead of getting drunk and driving a tractor over anything that moves or sways gently in the wind? Breaking your stalks of beautiful maize, everyday. That’s how I make my bread.
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