beauty walks swiftly into a room, sits down to decorate the landscape of perfectly pitched lithographs and one ornate mirror. despite the invention of electricity, the fall of the sun into the pinking horizon also destroys the thin line of solitude that keeps natural from nature. harsh light of reality paints black outlines and hardens a tired look into blue smudged shadows. when beauty glances up, it is her startled reflection that echoes down a hall of a dozen refracted dreams. no longer does she feel her youth, it is her mother that smiles back at her in paling light. ~
a bit of stream before I walk away from this screen tonight. too many hours reading twitter feeds and political commentary for my own good. work tomorrow shall be good unless some one mentions Clint Eastwood…. anyhoo,
I thought about beauty today, hence the above stream. It’s interesting, I’ve no patience for the demands of beauty in our society. It severely limits a woman and her ability to be perceived as human, she must first be objectified - categorized - what ‘class’ shall she fall into based on everything besides her IQ. The physical has always unnerved me. Yet, today I realized, there is one place I do feel beautiful….when I’m at the bookshop seeking a new treasure. Seriously, today I noticed how I smile upon a discovery (used bookshop) without self-consciousness. My posture is straight, not hunched, or trying to be small so that others may pass. When I finally pay for my purchase, I happily converse and look the clerk in the eye. Why? Books are the object; the beauty; and I am just the lowly receptacle who is fortunate enough to take a glimpse beyond their covers.