I’ve decided to be pretty again. I’ve determined that my motive for ugliness was not, as I had been claiming, an alignment of values and actions, but an attempt to worsten one’s condition for the sake of more dramatic contrast in the comeback. I’m young. I’m lucky. I sell out so easy. maybe its not my values that are anti-beauty but my fears. my super-ego, the slave-morality angel on my shoulder. I see nietzsche everywhere now.

I’ve been worshipping Aphrodite lately. I don’t know if I’m doing it right. As a girl, maybe eighth grade, I used to give her apples sometimes. leave them on a shelf in my bedroom with a candle and some pink cloth. I didn’t say goodbye to her properly then. I still feel sorry. I’ve been reciting Sappho; her works portray such an intimate relationship with the goddess. I still want a part of fragment one tattood on me, carson’s translation. now again, now again, now again.

I think beauty is a little like witchcraft in that I can never quite get myself to believe in it completely. I act as though I do, I understand the rules and apply them. There remains an arrogant (confident) little kid in the back of my head steadfast in her empiricism. astronomy, not astrology, always. brains over beauty. What do I owe to her?

The scientific method, maybe? to treat beauty like a science in its causes and effects. to record my methodolgies and compare them to controls etc etc etc. it’s effective, but this is not enough. it accepts beauty as the goal I want to acheive. she wanted to acheive being an astronaut. Patchwork repair then, beauty because it is what felt so unachieveable as to be (slave morality) evil as a weird little kid. magic because it is what I could not relate to one bit. this seems more complete. my child self is an unreliable narrator anyway.

this was goin to be an update on how to be gorgeous but nevermind that for now. bye.