What is beauty, indeed? After a quick search in the drawers of my mind, here are the definitions I could provide to shape beauty a bit. In the end, the answer is somehow less majestic, but for the love of playing with the words I will stick to writing the following lines.
Edgar Balogh - Exbarbie & Flesh Tones III
Beauty is that concept which comes from nowhere explainable, nowhere palpable, nowhere smellable, nowhere tastable or drinkable. It has no beginning, no end and no primordial maker. It might have appeared right before the atoms sprang from the void, or maybe even before the void sprang from the nebula of the imagination, or maybe even before eternity started, right at the edge of infinity. It is what is right to be since everything that is wrong cannot be either beautiful or desirable, fair or lovable.
Beauty is that demon that fools the eye and ties the hands of the practical and realistic approach. It puzzles the cortex and knots the neuronal links or synapses, puts paint on the windows like a naughty child so that the grown-ups cannot see more than their neighbouring, living-room vista.
Beauty is no more than a fake suit that our brain erects around an idolatrical skeleton. It goes up, upper, the upmost like smoke from a chimney and clads the spiny lines or the sharp edges.
Beauty is that demon that fools the eye and ties the hands of the practical and realistic approach. It puzzles the cortex and knots the neuronal links or synapses, puts paint on the windows like a naughty child so that the grown-ups cannot see more than their neighbouring, living-room vista.
Beauty is no more than a fake suit that our brain erects around an idolatrical skeleton. It goes up, upper, the upmost like smoke from a chimney and clads the spiny lines or the sharp edges.
Flavio Parsley - Ancient Chorus
Beauty is sometimes the curse of the ugly mind. The more evil one thinks, the more beautifully one stings. The deeper the rotting, the sweeter the cutting.
Beauty is that poor girl nobody understands indeed and who gradually becomes the blamable whore in the general opinion of her peers just because she is unable to stand up and fight. People generally mould her according to their own needs. She ends up throwing herself off a high place and crashes against the sudden awakening.
Beauty is our own interpretation of what we think we might like enjoying in our idealistic portrayal. We cannot even maintain this inner filter unspoilt or unbroken. Any mirror is subject to breaking every now and then, and the same occurs to our beauty filter when we overcaress and overclean its surface. The kitten got claws and the change has fangs. We might say it is the evolution of the senses towards the unattainable perfection.
Beauty is the reality of the stubborn brain which cannot get out of its diapers at the right time and still wants to see the world through blurred eyes. The baby brain of the lover of the unrealistic landscapes shall be allowed to hide itself between the folds of its blanket.
Beauty is that word which does not have any inspiring, beautiful or logical anagrams. Try and find one yourselves, I couldn't.
Beauty is, for me, my point of view in the first place because I am the ruler of my choices so everything else is reduced to dust.
Beauty is that poor girl nobody understands indeed and who gradually becomes the blamable whore in the general opinion of her peers just because she is unable to stand up and fight. People generally mould her according to their own needs. She ends up throwing herself off a high place and crashes against the sudden awakening.
Beauty is our own interpretation of what we think we might like enjoying in our idealistic portrayal. We cannot even maintain this inner filter unspoilt or unbroken. Any mirror is subject to breaking every now and then, and the same occurs to our beauty filter when we overcaress and overclean its surface. The kitten got claws and the change has fangs. We might say it is the evolution of the senses towards the unattainable perfection.
Beauty is the reality of the stubborn brain which cannot get out of its diapers at the right time and still wants to see the world through blurred eyes. The baby brain of the lover of the unrealistic landscapes shall be allowed to hide itself between the folds of its blanket.
Beauty is that word which does not have any inspiring, beautiful or logical anagrams. Try and find one yourselves, I couldn't.
Beauty is, for me, my point of view in the first place because I am the ruler of my choices so everything else is reduced to dust.
Stefan Balan - Spirit
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