There is something to be said about visual intrigue and optic stimulation.
Sure, it’s nice to see the sunset beyond a field of golden begonias stretching the horizon, only to reach the feet of mighty snowcapped mountains as the bravest of bald eagles soars overhead.
Gee.
Though these scenes certainly do occur in our mysteriously beautiful world, there is a difference between what we conceptualize as beauty, and that in which we become enthralled.
Have you ever walked passed a horrific car wreck?
Have you ever seen a person’s home engulfed in flames?
Has your friend ever broken his or her body, or somehow discharged their insides to the outside?
Like a new dawn, these things happen every day, and much like the setting sun, we cannot help but to gaze, sometimes only to look away, then to again fix our eyes closely upon.
What is it about the dreadful and horrid that so easily grabs our attention? Regardless of whether you are able to find beauty in the macabre, one thing not to be ignored, is that we are helplessly captivated by it.
The new, the improved, the disgusting, the wretched, the perfectly symmetric, oblong, and domestic, the best and the worst and the queer and the loud, the foreign, the frail, those who make not a sound. The far and the few, and the masses of asses, the same old shit and the never have ever been seen before.
All of these evoke a very sincere emotion from us, some perhaps more than others. We cuddle and caw to a risqué Bettie Page, yet we gawk and revel to the copulation of mantids. Does one move more than the other?
What is conceptually fascinating to me? : That which stirs.
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