Of All the Pop Songs

Unseen beauty is vast, a higher order of infinite than visible beauty.  Yet visible beauty is still infinite.  I do not mean just what eyes can see.  I mean all the senses.  Whatever can be sensed is, in this interpretation, classed as visible.  Also, if you want to interpret the unseen and the visible in a deeper way, then visible beauty can also be subjective qualia, like your inner impressions of a sweet poem, or your knowledge of some ancient ruins long since destroyed by entropy and human conflict, or your intuition that someone you have just met, a relative stranger, is some kind of saint.

With this more general sense of visible beauty now explained, what then is unseen beauty?  Well, is it not all the infinite beauty your mind is currently closed towards?  All the riches in the world of imagination that your petty or sorrowful soul will not allow you to perceive.  And all the mysteries of life that are veiled from your inner vision because you lack courage or faith to even admit they might be more real than all your flesh and blood.  Just the possibility.

So what is going on with my tortured soul that a dumb pop song can make me cry like a junkie who has just lost a cache of wonder drugs because he was too busy trying to get high from a batch of expired volatile organic hallucinogens that had decomposed ultravioletly into harmless water and aldehydes and light chain oils?  I say:  what is it?

OK, of all the dumb pop songs in all the freeview stations in all the frequencies in this city, why did that old Rolling Stones tune sink into my aural neuron slots, and then proceed to hum and buzz in wild feedback with my rusted emotional circuits that are in dire need of gentle feminine arousal? (Ruby Tuesday it was, sung in some surreal sounding young Latino(?) crooner voice in the movie Children of Men.)  Ain’t denying it got to me something acute-like, ’tis cool, can handle it.  Have been reasonably sensitively in-tune with my emotions lately.  “Lately” like for ten years of loveless marriage.  It hurts dude!  Remember it hurt if you read this back to yourself a few years from now Bij. I know, I know, you don’t want to hurt anyone else any more than they hurt you.  Heck though, we’re not all perfect.  Sometimes pain is unavoidable if justice is to be served. The better thing is that you work to ensure friends and former lovers are at least maximally unhurt.  The calculus of least affliction must be studied.   Law of minimum hurtfulness needs be applied.

Ah well.  Somewhere out there my true love waits… or not.   I am looking for you babe.  Like a delirious bee sensing the pollen all around yet who cannot yet taste the honey.  Don’t worry about this, I am searching with zeal.  When I find you you’ll know I’m the one, the way I will be yours, the way I will give, the ways I will tease and delight your senses, the manifold expressions of passion and rapture, the bliss of release and the fullness of anticipation will all be yours.

CCL_BY-NC-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/legalcode)

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