Play this song while you read.
In conspiracy thought, it is believed UFO sightings went up after the denotation of the nuclear bomb because humans started to mess with forces they didn’t understand. In this school of thought, those with more spiral in their eyes say the explosive splitting of the atom rippled through dimensions unknown including the spirit realm; the place where these unknown flying authorities are said to reside. To me, the bombs we’re a work of art. A potent manifestation, a brilliant symbol for a terrible turn in the Kali Yuga: staunch materialism. The detached manipulaton of atoms and cells with no concept for how they connect spiritually. Cut from a desire to make the world as one wants.
“…it is with the same imperialism that present-day simulators attempt to make the real, all of the real coincide with their models of simulation.”[1]
“The real is produced from miniaturized cells, matrices and memory banks, models of control.” [¹]
Seventy odd years later, the mushroom cloud has dissapated into our everyday lives, the most tragic being Beauty. In my imagined history of the past, in the settings all great romances occured, beauty was seen for what it is: a material representation for the immaterial. It would’ve been hard to find a pretty girl with an ugly soul. On a more boring, evolutionary-psychological level, crystal skin, lustrous hair, and a reflective smile were signs of good health. Both mentally and physically as diet effects one’s surface as much as mental state. Now, with the right formula and enough cash, I could get that perfect surface without possessing the immaterial crystalline. I can give the sign that I’m Real, without actually being Real.
People of today’s time do not understand doing is thinking. We forget the brain is important an organ as the heart or liver or lungs; we are embodied. Brain-inna-vat philosophy is neurotic! But because of it we see nothing of carefully meticulous rituals if results can come without the effort. Dousing a branded chemical on your distortions is easier than maintaining an eating piety. But as embodied beings actions are philosophy. The chemical only erases the ugly, diet adorns from the inside out. The food nutures the body, ridding the blemishes but the discipline nutures the mind, the true determiner of Beauty. The native american princess who “spends” hours tending to her hair is not the same as the woman who “paid” $250 for extensions. Their difference has nothing to do with hair.
We now get to the danger of this cellurized, spiritless beauty, for it makes beauty meaningless. If the prettiest women of our time are the most sick, then what does beauty mean? Paranoid, desensitized I’ve become about pretty women. The pleasure in the scopophilic heart skip is spoiled when I take a look through their eyes. That’s all it takes to dispell the mirrage, look through their windows, see what the their home is like. Empty. Bucket-headed bitches2. There’s a spite growing in me towards pretty women. I’m skeptical. Their facsimile is ruining beauty.
The facsimile is shallow, skin deep. The surgery of atoms only achieves material satisfaction, Materials rot and erode so the satisfaction is fleeting, it calls for more but that calling is for something beyond material. When you bite the lure of spiritless beauty you swallow juice, syrup, fructose. Bliss, for the seconds the tongue tirades, poverty for the body’s politics of substance and nutrients. The rabbit hole left behind by the copy is only big enough to stick your dick in; you lie on your stomach with your ass mooning the Sun, breathing in dirt hoping for enlightenment. The tunnels revealed by quenching from the golden chalice are rumored to be practically endless.
What illustrated this for me was when I was in a TikTok stuper (that algorithm is magical) and a Malu Trevejo video was shown to me. My Chinese drug dealer doesn’t usually give me highly sexualized content so it stood out. I think my exact thoughts were “Shes’s hot” and I predictably went to her page and repeated the same statement to at least 3 more of her videos. After that I concluded with “Yeah she’s pretty sexy but let me leave before I find out she’s underage.” And went back to scrolling like usual - a dick deep rabbit hole.
Later, down some other tube of the internet I stumbled acrossed this image of the Chauncy Bradley Ives statue Undine Rising from the Fountain. I was curious about it so I reverse image searched the picture and found out the name of the statue. The word ‘undine’ made me more curious so I read the wikipedia page on the elemental. Through that I stumbled across some guy named Paracelsus who rooted the word. Continuing, I read some of his work that mentioned the undines, A Book on Nymphs, Sylphs, Pygmies, and Salamanders, and on the Other Spirits, and was nourshied by this guy’s interesting Christianity.
“...it is man's function to learn about things and not be blind about them. He has been equipped to talk about the marvelous works of God and to present them...For nothing has been created that man could not explore, and it has been created so that man may not idle but walk in the path of God..."3
Belief in spirits or no belief, the philosophy behind the exploration is inspiring. The difference between these two reactions is what made me think about modern beauty. One simply made me horny, the other made me thirsty, thirsty for wisdom. That is what the name Sophia means after all and it is why the Greeks worshipped her. That is what every man seeks in women, beauty, wisdom. A woman who is the emanation of the primordial Sophia can give that to him by virtue of just existing just as the statue did for me. Uglyness is an oppurtunity for self reflection, or was. Now it’s an oppurtunity for a industry. The genetic structure of one’s face/body doesn’t matter much in reality because your thoughts are reflected on your form. It is the look behind your eyes into your psyche, your soul, which makes you truly beautiful or not. We still have this fact to gaurd ourselves against the every growing surgery of physical beauty, we can tell a Sophia from a succubus with the eyes.
This revelation has more or less ruined modern beauty for me. The constant filtering and dissapointment can be maddening so there are many times where I Wish I Was Like You - easilyamused.
Simulacra and Simulation, Jean Baudrillard; I haven’t finished the book yet, this makes my quotations more valid.
Image taken from Kendrick Lamar’s Money Trees, sung by Anna Wise on the bridge
Four treatises of Theophrastus von Hohenheim, called Paracelsus
Great article