Certainty

How do they do it?

I stumbled upon this blogpost. It discusses, with some amount of hubris, the fact of having beauty, and that having beauty affords certain privileges. The author mentions asking for and receiving free drinks as one such perk.

I wasn't appalled by her presumption, nor was I jealous of her pretty photo. I was deeply envious of her certainty.

Imagine asking a bartender, with a straight face and all the confidence that beauty imbues, for a free drink. Going into a place of business and requesting a nonessential service for exactly no return. What if the bartender laughs in your face and tells you to fuck off? What if he says, "You're not THAT pretty, honey." What if he enumerates your flaws for all to hear? How can you possibly assume - know for certain based on a reflection and your own perception - that you are beautiful? How can you know that?

The ones with this certainty - were they not knocked down sometimes? Were they always tucked in close, accepted consistently and unconditionally by their loved ones? It can't be. There must have been setbacks. Everyone, no matter how lovely, must have occasionally felt the sting of rejection. They must have moments of self-reflection in which they recall injurious words, indifference, ugliness reflected in their direction. In those moments, they must doubt the validity of their own assessment.

She does mention moments of neurosis; "morning pillow face" is the apocalypse, and the absence of catcalls is disappointing. No "nice guys" ever approach her, but that's only because of how intimidating her beauty is (God knows beauty and ''niceness" are like oil and water). But hubris has lent her truth, and she knows her place in the scheme of desire. Isn't there value in that? Can we really fault her for her certainty while the rest of us struggle to figure out what we are and how others see us? 

Untitled 2

marked down
a red sticker with a white border
take it out of the cupboard when in need of it
let it lie in disuse if you've nothing for it to do
there is no crime in this
because it is flawed
marred on the assembly line and slapped with the sticker
just as soon as someone noticed
it is desperate for a home
you'd be doing it a favor
take it, please
we can't stand to look at it anymore 

Untitled

Who am I?
 I am a what.
 I am a nurse lover, a roll of scotch tape over a gash in the gut
 I take sickness and eat it
 Belch in thanks and declare myself well-fed.

 The rot inside me smells of greenery
 They glimpse my fungus and kneel in praise of nature
 "Oh, you're real. You're like me. I never knew an ugly girl."
 But the insects nibble me dry.

Backlog

I have a backlog of stuff I've written in private journals. Some of it is fit for public consumption. Here we go.

How To Console Yourself

as the years of your life wear thinner

and the month of May is an instant

and the winter is still longer than the summer,

occasionally, when the winter of your heart rears in summer,

you must clasp it, warming the ventricles,

smoothing your palms over its surface,

without care for the blood that will stain your hands.

  

and the words of your father will ring in your ears as you console yourself,

or the wisdom imparted to you through the teachers, the priests, the wretched and destitute,

through your enemies and your elders,

they will be the assuagement through which you are salvaged.

6.9.2009