(letter to my ugly friend)
it's 9 in the evening
the end of may
my dear old and ugly friend,
even though you were always a silent person, your silence is now more obvious than it ever was. but that's not so bad after all. i mean you were always a good listener. it was me that didn't talked that much.
since you died, life didn't really change. i remember you once told me the only thing that scares you about death, it's that you will be gone and the others will continue living without you. so now i can assure you that life it's pretty much the same, maybe worse. the packs of cigarettes are more and more expensive and i'm scared as fuck that maybe someday soon they'll figure out a way to make cigarettes healthy.
i won't say you didn't lose anything, because let's be honest you never even had the chance to get married, but who wants that, right? or you haven't got the chance to have a baby, but i hear they can be quite loud and annoying, so they're pretty much a pain in the ass. or most important you never got the chance to see me blossoming into the wonderful world of crap-eating art.
you pretty much got the easiest way of the deal.
me on the other hand...well, i'm trapped here apparently trying "to do something in life", but it's hard. not to make something of your work, but to have the power to want that. because even if there are now books entitled "ugliness for dummies", they still are so few that realize that ugliness is important to be acknowledge and i'm not talking in the baudelairian artistic kind of way. i'm talking about things that happen and everybody transforms them into something else. like when some guys are ashamed when they kiss the girls after finishing in their mouth after a good blowjob. or the fact that there will always be persons who wander why does cum drops from the pussy of their women and not sparkling water or honey. i guess they still hope that love can make miracles come true.
and funny thing about love. i've tried recently this stuff and exactly like the lsd experience, it turned out really dissapointing. interior peace my ass, my stomach cramped for months.
i guess my idea of love still remains dying through an overwhelming orgasm. who knows, maybe love was better described by nietzsche or kafka than bataille or even sade. and no, people shouldn't get mad when the other person sleeps with somebody else. i mean for fuck sake, maybe she or he learns something new. it always works for the best.
so now i'm trying to develop a seminar on ugliness and i would surely appreciate if you would come, but i totally understand if you don't (i know your parents wouldn't be that happy about it). but i'm just making small talk now...in fact the reason i'm writing to you now is that i found a piece of 1972 archive filmstrip that reminded me of you. yes, i know it's not yours ... but nothing is anymore. i mean i can finally tell you now that i've stolen all your ideas and works in photography and thanks to them i'm becoming more and more appreciated as an original artist (it will be our little secret). and i don't think this should bother you at all ... i mean come on, you were a lazy son of a bitch (in a literally way) which ironically was best at rotting (once again i think you pretty much got the easiest way of the deal). i guess this is the ugly conclusion...
don't worry. nothing will take this from you. you'll always be ugly to me
but you could wash your teeth once in a while i wouldn't mind