sometimes you get lucky and observe beauty in its traditional form.. sunsets, perfect humans. more often, such beauty is absent and life is hard, ugly, or mundane. more often, you're required to seek out beauty, to press its essence out of scenes that would be conventionally termed plain or sad or dull. you can't do it quite as easily without a little alcohol, every once in a while.

without alcohol (or other controlled substance) your consciousness becomes planar, you get used to seeing the world a certain way and maybe there are variations, but they're slight. it's the benefit of temporary schizophrenia, a debate between strangers all within your mind. that period spent as a different sort of you allows comparison and sometime during that comparison of subtley different perceptions things are shaken loose, hidden treasures of truth - beauties.

you figure out how beautiful and perfect it is to be tragic and obvious, that there's a romance to failure, to filth, to decay and the passing of years unnoted. more light gets in, when you're drunk. you don't need a garden or a masterpiece to shout its glory at you. you can hear the old slow whispered beauty of the circle of sweat left by a drink on a wooden bar that needs refinishing. the incongruous, the anomalies, like the brush of fingers across your cheek - you see that they're all beautiful, too.

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