Mystic Metals Body Jewelry
Man, there's something wrong with my body. My sweat smells like a rotting skunk dressed in a garlic tuxedo, and my poo is green. Like, goose poop green. Is that bad? My sister (who is a vet) said that it's ok. Of course, I'm not a cat or dog or exotic kind of parakeet. But poo is poo, right? Maybe not. So if the blog disappears for an extended amount of time, it's probably related to my tuxedo skunk sweat and green goose poo.
I chose not to do a year end blog. They usually suck anyway. Like you cats and kittens really care that I think "Pandora's Piñata" by Diablo Swing Orchestra is the best record this year, and that "Prometheus" is the best film, and that I read about ten books including a biographic account of Armin Meiwes' murders. How does that enrich your life? You should all listen to that record and see that movie and read that book, though. No, instead of one of those boring blogs, I'm going to write a different kind of boring blog. I'm going to talk about the blog's mission, and then we'll see if I've hit it anywhere close to the mark. (Seriously, my sweat is distractingly bad.)
It's been about four years that this blog has been happening. That's a bit of time. A lot can happen in four years. Hell, one man can singlehandedly ruin the country and shred the Constitution in four years. That was cheap; sorry. In those four years, I've found love, I've played bass on too many stages to count, and I've written hundreds of thousands of words. I've even self-published four books, one of which is on Nook and Kindle. A lot can happen. Every week, missing only about three or four weeks, I've ranted and joked about shit related to our beautiful culture of body modification. Some rants have been a bit more personal. (I hope more of you guys understand spina bifida now.) But on the whole, the cornerstone on which this blog hinges is beauty. Always beauty. In my uneducated and awful ability at writing, I've tried to tie that central theme into each rant. More successfully on some days than others. But why. Why would someone like me, lover of metal music and horror movies and violent video games (the liberal government's nightmare, it seems), want to focus fifteen hundred words every week onto beauty?
That's a tough question to answer in fifteen hundred words. Good thing I'm trying. Man, I'm a shitty writer. But if you cats and kittens have been reading for this and the passed three years, you'll understand a little bit. On the whole, however, I do think beauty is an inalienable thing. It is a thing inherent in each single sentient creation of whatever created life. I'm looking at you God or Darwin or the creepy Engineer guys in Prometheus. Sentience, now that I think about it (what a dense start of a sentence) may not even be a requirement. Trees and cats and squids and grass and wind and moons and insects and everything are all inherently beautiful. Especially squids. Occasionally in this blog I've talked about beauty robbing things. That seems contradictory. If beauty is inalienable, how can something rob it? Because my phrasing is a misnomer. It's easily understandable, and therein lay its function, but beauty cannot be completely taken away or robbed from anything. Beauty crushing is probably a better phrase, but that sounds too aggressive. Beauty diminishing is probably more accurate, but that sounds too clinical. Both are a bit more accurate to what I mean, however. Beauty can be shrunk. It can be taken by someone or something else and demanufactured into a small and starving thing. It is still there, however. In order to grow it again, like so many neglected Chia Pets, we must water and feed it. We know thanks to Isaac Newton that the size and weight of a thing can change, but not its mass. So as these outside conditions shrink and change our beauty, the density of it grows way too massive to ignore. The question comes when we try to grow that mass dense little beauty nugget. How do we do it?
First, we recognize it. Everything strives to be recognized. We all do in other aspects of our lives. Our work, our accomplishments, our loyalties, our love. We all want others, or maybe just one other, to recognize that we've done well; or at the very least, we've done something. Dogs bark. Kids act out. Lovers sometimes cheat. For the attention of it. To be recognized as doing something, making a decision, making a mark or a difference whether positive or otherwise. Why neglect our beauty from such a desire? We must know it is. And it very much is regardless of how much we try to pretend it isn't. Doing the recognizing is very simple. First we clear the throat of any of those little mucus guys from the Mucinex commercials. Spit or swallow as you prefer. (Keep this clean, kids; my mom reads this.) Then we look on ourselves and say the following: "I am beautiful." That's it. How hard is that? Not very. Suddenly, your beauty is recognized and appreciative, and it grows slightly and disperses some of its density making it easier to more frequently recognize, and much more easily taken with you and shared as you move about the cabin of reality. That's terrible. I'll take that out in edit.
If you're a more aggressive Chia Pet waterer and feeder, try this; tell a stranger that he is beautiful without expecting anything in return. That may be a little bold for some people, but what's interesting about it is that it proves there is no true altruism. What the hell kind of point is that to make? Saying to a stranger, 'Hey, you're very beautiful,' does a couple things. It makes the person feel good (after he gets passed the slight strangeness of the comment), and it helps to grow your own beauty because how can you grow and foster something of your own if you cannot recognize it in the wild? Simple.
But this isn't an instruction guide to how to feel beautiful. I can't tell you how. All I can tell you is that you are, and then it is up to you to decide if you are going to recognize it or not. I can give you a bass guitar, show you everything I know (which sadly isn't much for a professional bass player), but if you don't practice you'll never play. Thing about it too is that when you first start playing the bass, your fingertips will hurt pretty badly. You'll grow blisters on the finger ends, and they'll be tender and sore for a long while. If you keep playing, however, they'll become callouses and playing becomes easier and easier. Before you realize it, you're playing beautiful music that brings a smile to you and those who hear it. It takes work, though, and a tool is only as effective as the effort and focus that goes into using it.
And that's the point of this four year experiment in writing about beauty. It's hard for everyone out in the reality in which we've chosen to exist. Regardless of whatever invented or imaginary percentage you choose to associate with, life is difficult. It doesn't have to be if we choose to see beauty and to be beautiful. What makes life fun (well, more fun; life isn't all that fun) is that we have the ability to manipulate our beauty to our own liking. We can modify, tattoo, pierce, suspend, bifurcate, implant. We can choose to wear those awful rain boots or put paint on our faces or dye our hair or have rhinoplasty or liposuction or put biological weapons into our eyes and lips. If these things make us more comfortable with ourselves and bring us closer to our own beauty, then we are that much closer to having a beauty actualized society. And if we all know our own beauty, then seeing beauty in others will be simple, and after that? Maybe people will just be people as God or Darwin or the Prometheus Engineers intended us to be. And no; 2013 does not mark the year were I become more liberal, even though some of this rant has a liberal feel to it. If anything, I'm going to get more conservative and write some sort of manifesto in the woods. Included in that manifesto may or may not be my beautiful and wonderful girlfriend's recipe for chili. It's fantastic. But beauty and actualizing our own independent beauty is nonpartisan. Hopefully in 2013, more of you cats and kittens will enjoy these rants and come closer to your own beauty actualization. I should work a little harder, though. Hard work is good for the soul; and yes, even though I play "Call Me Maybe" for money every night, I still have a little bit of a soul. Just a little bit. Stay beautiful, kids.
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