There’s beauty in that rotten pomogranate

There’s beauty in that rotten pomogranate, 

Life is full of rotting fruit, gems of the forgotten, jewels of the disguarded, dumpster diving, i come accross such reminders of inner beauty vs asthetics, and it reminds me of those things i fell in love with over time as opposed to instantly. I never liked the smell of ciggarettes, but you, you conditioned my senses to relate the smell of stale butts to youre bedroom, your balconey, your presence, and i cant shake that butterfly stomach effect associated with them. Or is that rather a potential vomit i feel comming up?

We all die. This is true, sometimes we escape taxes, this is also true. Hopefully we each find love, be it in a person, place or thing, and i think we generally do, and those of us who chose to ignore the bruised beaten and decaying intestines of a pomogranate tend to live a much more agonizing life. Notice the usage of the word life as opposed to death, because whether you ignore that innocent beauty or bask in it, you still have to live beside it. Like I will always relate the butts i come accross to you, and youre eternal youth, forever etched in my mind, forever grateful to have had that chance to be with you, at least long enough to learn to love your ugly habits. Those habits that comfort me when youre not around to do it yourself.

One of my co-workers Phil, had a stroke the other day, shes back to work today as void of life as she was while she was convulsing on the floor benieth me, waiting for the paramedics. She makes sloppy melting cakes, nobody touches, cause they look like someone deficated on them, but she always comes in with pearl earings, eye shaddow, and lipstick, as if reaching out to some middle aged man that she still tries to impress, and still begs for their company in her lonely bed at night. She is beautiful, like the pomogranate we spoke of above. 

Another co-worker, my friend kathleen, works with fake flowers all day long, yet longs for the real thing. Dont we all? who can resist the beauty of a fresh flower? Why else did you think they were so popular? Even those who dispise flowers and try their best to convince themselves all day long that flowers are the devils work, know deep down they envy the beauty of a flower. 

When purchased they come in many forms, fresh haircuts, expensive clothes, botox, but do they really bring happiness? however when given, in such forms as double coupons, a fat tip, a smile form the girl in the red dress on the subway train, the comfort of grandmas quilt, they can live on for eternity, etched in the mind as ideas of beauty, as opposed to the real thing which fades. 

Kathleen overcame cancer. her cure in addition to all the modern technology, radiation, gizmos, gadgets, etc, was more her spirit than anything, kathleen is strong, but soft enough to love, and the love she gives, gives back to her threefold, she beat her cancer, or so she tells me, through the shit eating grin on her face, kathleen is pretty in comparrison to phil, she tries to be beautiful, she tries masking herself with flowers, and sometimes its attractive as all flowers can be, but phil, doesnt need flowers, her beauty shines in her graceful dedication, to her peers, to her friends, to her loyalists, 

nobody rode with phil to the hospital, she was alone, and disorented thought it was still 2006 in the back of the ambulance, nobody carried her, cradled her in their arms through the whole ordeal, and now, a week later, shes back at the daily grind. never said a word ton anyone about it, just simply endured a,d drove onward. everforward to her grave, she is beautiful. not because of her servitude to the tainted system, but rather her determination to face the rugged slopes of life doing somersaults, boucne back up, and still feel pretty enough to wear her pearl earrings, even though her face is showing its wear, 

life is fucking tough, and its never getting easier, but i wouldnt have it any other way. ive seen death firsthand on several occasions, stared it dead in the pupil, its cold, its dark, and its lonely, like a johnny cash song, but its not the worst part of life, and i am no longer afraid, thanks to people i meet like phil, who protect me from the fear of death, thanks to my friend the dumpster dived pomogranate, 

and my endless supply of stale cigarette butts, to remind me of you.

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Categories: Ideology and epiphanies | Leave a comment

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