You think you know beauty? You don't know the first fucking thing about beauty.Submitted by OathMeal at 2017-09-24 00:33:12 EDT
Rating: -1.0 on 5 ratings (14 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
Try to explain to me how it feels to apprehend something truly beautiful. Go 'head: dig deep and give me your best adjectives and descriptive metaphors, roping in whatever grand, superlative language you think does service to the glory of sunsets, or the curve of a woman's ass in the firelight, or how light glimmers within a diamond.
You lonely, myopic, uncreative pool of steaming fecal detritus.
How very dare you think that you have anywhere near the capacity to truly behold the honest emission of beauty as it is in the universe. How very dare you think that you could even hope to tap your senses and the information they're feeding your meek little brain, in a way that even *somewhat* resembles the objective, mind-numbingly transcendent beauty radiating through literally every atom in existence. The sheer arrogance. The all-too-common, unquestioningly ignorant self-righteousness. It's genuinely stomach-turning, and you should be ashamed of yourself.
Your ADORABLE sense of 'actualized self (thanks to THE SECRET and Deepak Chopra's latest book on how to derive emotional energy from the burning of rare wood bark)' seeps from your pores like the stench of putrifaction.
You think you know beauty. You think you have any idea whatsoever about just how beautiful everything is. You presume that by opening your eyes and letting your consciousness explore your field of vision that you are ANYWHERE NEAR the direct experience of unfettered, raw, bareback beauty.
Beauty that bends you over the wall of a marble bathtub and pleasures you so perfectly that your entire conception of what it means to be alive at all is set afire, pushed out to sea on a pyre and left as smoldering ashes amid the waves.
It was cute of you think that you ever knew beauty.
The tragedy of all of it was that you never knew enough pain, loss, anguish, heartache, vacancy, death, absence, blackness or sheer nonexistence to be able to appreciate just how incalculably large the amount of beauty really is - in everything.
There's no hope in trying to reform the likes of you into someone or something that can ever know beauty. And that's not my job. It's no one's job. It either happens or it doesn't, and clearly it hasn't yet for you.
This isn't meant to make you feel bad. I'm not your therapist, however, so that should come as consolation. Don't take this personally - you've simply not suffered enough to accurately account for the beauty around you.
...and that's ok. Don't let this get you down. We were all ignorant emotional paramecium at one point - and we didn't even know enough to be ashamed about it. See, that's the thing about being so naive and innocent: you don't even know what you don't know. It's like a kind of metastupidity that has a character all its own.
Now if you'll assume your position against that marble bathtub, we can get this fucking party started already.
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