The other side of striving for---------
There's something I realized just now...
The methods we consider beauty -- the fad by which we hold definition, and thus the method we seek it and the basis for satisfaction -- are not one sided.
By this I mean to say I realized our culture's concern for power and control, being above pain, influences very significantly our perception of beauty. Somehow we ended up with danger and beauty entertwined, I think... two strong thighs and a cigarette, lenky spiders, motorcycles and muscles, electric guitars, vodka and a smooth tummy...
But in the shadow of the hammer is the flower so easily crushed -- the other side of beauty. Perhaps this is what I've been trying to get at in my recent struggles to accept powerlessness, perhaps this is what I want to crawl into in my wildest passions for life.
I want the confidence that comes with acknowledging fragility. But once more, I want the fragility, because I'm sensing a truth therein which the filter in your cigarette and the fear in your eyes fails to whisper.
And tonight I heard it from my hand that truth is the basis of art.
And am I going to be motivated by anything else here?
The methods we consider beauty -- the fad by which we hold definition, and thus the method we seek it and the basis for satisfaction -- are not one sided.
By this I mean to say I realized our culture's concern for power and control, being above pain, influences very significantly our perception of beauty. Somehow we ended up with danger and beauty entertwined, I think... two strong thighs and a cigarette, lenky spiders, motorcycles and muscles, electric guitars, vodka and a smooth tummy...
But in the shadow of the hammer is the flower so easily crushed -- the other side of beauty. Perhaps this is what I've been trying to get at in my recent struggles to accept powerlessness, perhaps this is what I want to crawl into in my wildest passions for life.
I want the confidence that comes with acknowledging fragility. But once more, I want the fragility, because I'm sensing a truth therein which the filter in your cigarette and the fear in your eyes fails to whisper.
And tonight I heard it from my hand that truth is the basis of art.
And am I going to be motivated by anything else here?