Beauty, Everyone...
Everyone... Such should be the scope of what one calls Beauty. Everyone holds it in possession, everyone creates it in different ways. The nature of the work is simple; a mere "pleasing" may suffice for many as the consequences of Beauty. But there is Beauty of some sort in suffering, in persevering beyond belief, in bearing, sternly, the burden of being: there is Beauty in those that make one shiver, those that lure tears, those that dwarf one's most brilliant accomplishments in their presence. It is a humbling, a decimating force, landing on our retina as a sun glare. It brings about an annihilation, a purification of sorts. No earthliness sprouts in its blazing trail.
OK, I have disembarked my load of bull for now. Really, this is about beauty, such common observation to the gifted! Is it an immitation of life and reality? A transcension? Or an illusion created by our insatiable vanity? Many forms can it take, for many purposes can it be. It changes with time, yet remains immutable in its core.
A divorce between utility and necessity caused the escalating transcension of Beauty. Back in the days when an object was utilized because it was useful and necessary, Beauty is functionality; a woman was beautiful only if she was fat; a pot was beautiful only if it was sturdy. Then we conjured up our own standards. Every newly borne is ineluctably infected by the standards of judgment. One decision at a time, we define our own world where necessity is no more, and all that is valued will be built upon the human race's mere hypothesization. Then we would have no solid ground left, and all of us would be floating within cottony clouds. Then necessity will make its come-back. People long for the things that they do not possess. It is not the identities of the things themselves, but rather people's status of NOT owning them, that makes them valuable. When people lose their ability to live a life driven by necessities, they would strive to lead a "necessitated" life. Insatiable.
night is the waking hour
when all mouths fall silent, still
still the chimneys point to the stars, lest
lest the furnace is lit
those tall, solemn shades dance wildly
licked by tiny, restless flames--
all swpet down the drain, the rain-water
assiduous sweepers, splashing the puddles with their boots
broom-twigs wet with earthy fluid: tic, toc
the night slips away-- with the forced streams
the chimneys were diligently sealed--
OK, I have disembarked my load of bull for now. Really, this is about beauty, such common observation to the gifted! Is it an immitation of life and reality? A transcension? Or an illusion created by our insatiable vanity? Many forms can it take, for many purposes can it be. It changes with time, yet remains immutable in its core.
A divorce between utility and necessity caused the escalating transcension of Beauty. Back in the days when an object was utilized because it was useful and necessary, Beauty is functionality; a woman was beautiful only if she was fat; a pot was beautiful only if it was sturdy. Then we conjured up our own standards. Every newly borne is ineluctably infected by the standards of judgment. One decision at a time, we define our own world where necessity is no more, and all that is valued will be built upon the human race's mere hypothesization. Then we would have no solid ground left, and all of us would be floating within cottony clouds. Then necessity will make its come-back. People long for the things that they do not possess. It is not the identities of the things themselves, but rather people's status of NOT owning them, that makes them valuable. When people lose their ability to live a life driven by necessities, they would strive to lead a "necessitated" life. Insatiable.
night is the waking hour
when all mouths fall silent, still
still the chimneys point to the stars, lest
lest the furnace is lit
those tall, solemn shades dance wildly
licked by tiny, restless flames--
all swpet down the drain, the rain-water
assiduous sweepers, splashing the puddles with their boots
broom-twigs wet with earthy fluid: tic, toc
the night slips away-- with the forced streams
the chimneys were diligently sealed--
