I have never always been able to classify human beings based on their physical appearance. If asked if a person were beautiful or ugly, I honestly wouldn’t know what to answer. Heck, I might even be offended by the question. I mean, really, who am I to judge? I don’t really know how everyone else views the concept of beauty but for me, the ugliest people have always been those with closed minds, people without the ability to reason things out logically for themselves and folks lacking in creativity and compassion. Forgive me, but there is profound beauty in the lines of a perfectly expressed opinion and a conclusion drawn logically, having nothing(or less) to do with physical appearance but everything to do with minds, with souls. If I fall in love or like a person, it’s because the person’s mind is on fire. I appreciate the general definition of physical beauty in people(hurrah for vanity!) but handsome as the devil or as beautiful as an angel, it will always boil down to what they have in their heads, minds, and hearts. I generally cannot ignore the innards. Very hard. No siree! But that is just me talking. I may be off, but hey.
So, I wanna share the opinions of Charles Bukowski on the matter with you. I hope you will be able to appreciate the sweet and sour reality that he offers. Honesty like a flash of blinding white light, jarring you, yet comforting and providing illumination as well. Ahhh… there is indeed a reason why I love him so… even though he wasn’t a looker… physically, I mean.
So here goes…
“Beauty is nothing, beauty won’t stay. You don’t know how lucky you are to be ugly, because if people like you, you know it’s for something else.”
Charles Bukowski, Tales of Ordinary Madness.
And this very personal piece…
“How come you’re so ugly?”
“My life has hardly been pretty — the hospitals, the jails, the jobs, the women, the drinking. Some of my critics claim that I have deliberately inflicted myself with pain. I wish that some of my critics had been along with me for the journey. It’s true that I haven’t always chosen easy situations but that’s a hell of a long ways from saying that I leaped into the oven and locked the door. Hangover, the electric needle, bad booze, bad women, madness in small rooms, starvation in the land of plenty… God knows how I got so ugly. I guess it just comes from being slugged and slugged again and again, and not going down, still trying to think, to feel, still trying to put the butterfly back together again… it’s written a map on my face that nobody would ever want to hang on their wall.
Sometimes i’ll see myself somewhere… suddenly… say, in a large mirror in a supermarket… eyes like little mean bugs…face scarred, twisted, yes, I look insane, demented, what a mess… spilled vomit of skin… yet, when I see the “handsome” men I think, my god my god, I’m glad I’m not them”
― Charles Bukowski, Sunlight Here I Am: Interviews and Encounters, 1963-1993.
So, what now?
What say you?
A bazillion kisses to you.