I wrote "Heartstrings" and "Gravelman" about Robert Johnson. That's a different story for a different day. Today, I write about true beauty.
I write a lot about it; I don't think our society has a positive take on beauty. We have iron rules of shape and color that leave too many women feeling inadequate and repulsive. Personally, pin up girls like Britney Spears and Playboy bunnies look ordinary and predictable to me: of course, men are supposed to like perky blondes with trim bodies. Those men have common and ordinary opinions. When does individuality become important? What distingishes an individual as beautiful above all others? Beauty, to me, is not in looking the same as other women, but in looking different from the normal, the common, and the obvious.
Phantoms behind irises engage me most. Have you ever seen someone recognize you from across a crowded room? I watch eyes; those recognizing glances are some of the few things that don't change in my memories. That look, that depth is what inspires me. True beauty, to me, is the part of a woman that loves me back. I doubt I've ever seen true beauty. I imagine true beauty in my quiet moments, in my dreams and in my nightmares. The perception of love decieves me most. I write reams, boxes, and cantos to those deceptive perceptions. Pusruit of that deception, even if only for a short time, keeps me looking for, and keeps me believing in the underlying importance of individuals.