Beauty or brains?
Fuck that, it’s not a dichotomy. Let’s not act like mascara glues girls eyes so shut that they can’t read a word of Dickens or solve a trig problem. Let’s talk about how no boy has ever been asked if he’d rather get his Bachelor’s or get married; no boy has ever been told that he’s too handsome to run for office. So why cover up my tits so you can take me seriously?
Beauty or brains? I’ll take ‘em all, thanks.
So I hate when guys comment on photos of suicide girls on Facebook and say shit like “I wish girls like this would exist where I live” or “why aren’t there more women like this”. Like..they do, you’re just seeing them sans-photoshop and not fully made up and fully clothed..And they all think they’re God’s gift to the world or something and most of us girls are just “average”. STFU
I confess to you these letters have been taxing to say the least. A man, such as I, is not inclined to bend and bow as I do to you, and for you my love. It feels as if the deepest hourglass had turned and its sand fell ever slower, or even as if its flow had been halted. Empty but its sand, now dusted webbed windows, a hollow reflection into my own deepest remorse, stands above my bed each night. As the sun relents behind lachrymal clouds; deep purple penetrates the fluttered opening of my hovel, casting unfathomable layers of void as a presence, lingered then as smoke, filling my lungs with unrest and deepest sadness. My love, when had I ever exiled you so? As you now have exiled my heart; It rests disillusioned and languished upon the golden throne of your heathen spirits, pumping the poison from its valves, spilled down its golden train into my awaiting gorge. When last I saw you, we spoke. Fretless and such absolved words, of any meaning, were never uttered from lips that trembled as cold as ours that thoughtless night. They were taciturn words, of men and gods that no longer held sway within my stirring soul. I still remember how you came to me, in yourself, considering that you were wretched, beaten, and filthy, yet all that comes clear to me was beneath the dirt, stained by your flooding vessels, above the pale gloom of your haunting smile. An eye, green and so bright, all heavens light was diminished in me at first sight. You of ineffable beauty, swirled in twilit glitter, fell upon me like a wood nymph limber and fluid at Nahal Sorek, that fated brook that would have erased me. Still here I stand erect and solid as the avalanches of grace denied to me, for you, my sweetest darkness. No words of man or of divine purpose will withdraw this sullen ghost, wine sunken and fading, from the bleakness of this cave. Only the lilting sounds of your delicate laughter could draw me forth, and know this: I would ride for you through storms as your living breathing beast, neglecting none that would bar your way. I will wait for you endlessly; even as you scorned me when last we met. Betrayal is a word spoken of lovers, for I, it is just that, a solitary word. Come to me now sweetest sickness and bless me with the sutures that only your enduring hands could create, cure me of this madness, I need you like this breeze needs the wind.
Now, they name me Asmodeus , an old word of which I have yet to unearth the meaning. I can feel myself change, less aware yet more than ever in the most insidious ways. Samson lies dead with Dagon buried beneath rutted pillars, so they say and will continue to believe for it is there his body rests; in this hole, and in you, my spirit lies.
In truth always yours,