beauty and purpose

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A friend and I we're talking about Maggot Baits. She brought up a really interesting perspective of extreme guro symbolizing the obsession and consumption of the female form. I still reflect on that, but I'm inorganic enough to see the allure and alienation that resides in my own actions. The assumption of surveillance that I've filtered into adoration. The world has convinced me that I must preserve it to find security in it. I hate being beautiful. They never take you seriously when you tell them it's temporary. I look down on the women that pursue it not out of battle of the sexes, but a pity for the attempt of fabricating significance through a power that is so innate to these bodies. Men will expect face from me, they'll stare despite my discomfort. My only comfort comes remembering he will die trapped in himself.

I'm so happy.

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