drunkencynic's Diaryland Diary



I just bought Adore by The Smashing Pumpkins (belatedly), and it's the most heavenly thing. Gorgeous, but there's a darker, harsher side to it as well.

In that vein, I recently read a book. The book itself was completely forgettable, save for a few perfect moments. There's one bit where the protagonist is in a bookshop in New York, and a woman next to her comments on the cover of a book they're both looking at, something like, "Ah, the security of perfect beauty" or something vaguely pretentious and insightful like that. And the protagonist talks about the weird, 'glittering' moments that one has with complete strangers in New York.

Then (and herein lies the point I was getting at) there is another scene in which the protagonists' pretentious, pretension-hating boyfriend takes her to MOMA and proceeds to criticize her taste, indirectly (he's a lot like me in that way). He launches into a brilliant one-sided discussion (or monologue, if you will) about how there is hard art and there is soft art. Monet, for example, 'practially melts in your mouth' but with Picasso, sometimes it can be difficult to look at for very long, and that is brilliance, that is beauty. It's the truth. Beauty is balanced perfectly by ugliness, by hardness, by flaws. Nothing can be truly beautiful that does not have some ugly quality. And maybe flawlessness is a kind of ugliness. Unreality.

There, I've fulfilled my pretentious bullshit quotient for the day.

10:30 p.m. - 2003-10-06


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