Friday 23 December 2011

Pale and black

Frantically drunk in Sainsbury's on a Friday night. I see a girl I can't help but be stupified by. She is murderously beautiful. Pale. Black. It can't be right to call her beautiful, or can it?. What does beautiful mean? Is it anything I can talk about with validity after two bottles of wine and two months without intercourse? But what chimeras the supermarket aisles can conjure.
Why not use the word, as impossibly vague as it is? Because I've never had an unsentimental conviction about anything, drunk or sober. I've also been to enough weddings to be familiar with that criminal misrepresentation of the woman as 'beauty'.  Don't tell me beauty is subjective. That doesn't get anyone anywhere. Give me instead a treatise on aesthetics. Give me Burke on the sublime and the beautiful. Give me beauty you can measure. Give me her beauty to measure.

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