Beauty

Beauty is the silence of the form of life amidst monstrous creation. Just as Aphrodite is the first of the Gods, born of the conflict of the Primordial and the Titanic, within the raining blood of Uranus; just as the sea of foam courses through the forest threatening to consume the Nymphs through desecration of their Oath—Beauty is the kairos of necessity within doom. Crimson and ivory against a shimmering obsidian crack of sky. Beauty gives all of itself within its being taken, within its want of everything, just as the great sea consumes itself as its own consuming force—and so lives on in its crystallising escape. The dying sea grasps at the trunk of the ash as the nymph rolls its diamond-shaped bark tight behind her, intimate. And it is the tiniest and most fragile of forms, naked amidst that bleak red foam; only the delicate contours of a shell protect Her feet from the lapping of death. Life emerges in the violence of occlusion, in the congealing sea which fails to engorge the world column blossoming from within. And so the World Ocean breaches its banks, and the blood now land takes flight into the forest, bearing only what it might. And through Her the World Ocean returns to its icy blue sway.