Personal nonsense and updates on life!!
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| Lighthearted Personal nonsense and updates on life!! |
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Thursday, September 22, 2005 I think that we mistake our aesthetic attraction to a person for sexual preference. Aesthetic attratction is comparable to admiring a piece of artwork. Most artwork is void of sex or gender. Since people are born a certain sex and so quickly learn gender roles, when there is an aesthetic attraction to someone of the same sex, we label it homosexuality. I recently had an eyeopening experience. I was utterly breathtaken by a woman. Tall (6'1'' or 6'2''), statuesque, with short dark hair and fair skin. She wore rectangular glasses, a long flowing skirt and fitted top. She was extremely slender. I couldn't keep my eyes off of her nor could she keep hers off me. For some reason, all I could think of was the Keats peom "Ode to a Grecian Urn." A poem to which I don't even know the words. Eventually she turned to me and told me that she thought I was beautiful. I returned the compliement, adding that I didn't want her to think I was a total "lesbo" for staring at her. I offended myself with that statement. The moment became awkward. We managed to get past it. What had just happened? Was I a lesbian? Did I have "lesbian tendencies?" No... but I am a fashion major, pageant participant, and former model. I know beauty when I see it, and I can't help but to admire it. Afterwards I thought to myself, "Is this what it feels like to be homosexual?" ODE ON A GRECIAN URN By John Keats Thou still unravished bride of quietness, Thou foster child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loath? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared, Pipe to the spirit dities of no tone. Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal---yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss Forever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unweari-ed, Forever piping songs forever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! Forever warm and still to be enjoyed, Forever panting, and forever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloyed, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands dressed? What little town by river or sea shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity. Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty"---that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. posted by The Lady | 3:00 PM (0) comments
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