i half feel terrible for feeling terrible for terribly ugly people.
i assuredly tell you that i’m not one of them.
if you are a terribly ugly person, i apologize and understand your wish for a great heavy hand to come striking down upon me, bringing disgrace to my face and good name! but alas, i don’t believe in heavy hands of greatness that aren’t detectable to the naked eye. maybe the steady strike of a bus should be more worrisome for someone like me who has a bad habit of feeling invincible, and never looking out.
but i am only stating what i’m sure many of us think but dare to admit out loud. that terribly ugly people are difficult to look away from. it isn’t that we seek them out, at least i don’t. but when they get caught in my cross hares, i find myself so intrigued by their sad fate i can’t help but fixate on them for a bit.
how does a man with an enormously large forehead, a wide set yet pointed nose, ill-looking pasty white skin, and a massive, chronically, down-turned mouth succeed in intoxicating a woman enough that she’d consider giving him her number let alone access to her pussy? how does this man feel when he stares into a mirror and finds his white eye lashes still haven’t grown past a centimeter long? and that his dark but sparse eyebrows are permanently peaked, making him look eternally angry?
how it must feel to know by indication from the sexes, from co-workers, from friends- hell, probably from parents-that you’re a sore sight for the eyes!
the man i just described- the ugliest man i ever saw up until this point- sat one row in front of me for the duration of a 3 hour class, never to be seen again. he was nervous when called upon- never quite hitting the point on the head, and clearly frustrated working whatever condition the class was discussing. he seemed to know he was incapable of grasping the concept, despite trying and continually volunteering himself to answer. he would squint his eyes downward in subtle disbelief and disappointment when the teacher would tell him to rethink his words. it was a bit sad to see.
because the expressions on his face made my judgement resoundingly solid.
i’m sure he has friends…colleagues…acquaintances… who would all attest to his good nature. he must be kind and careful with a face like that. he must know that his first impression will never be one made in silence. it is an awful thing to suppose. its difficult not to, though. i know that you, and me, and everyone we know has grazed a similar stream of thought- walking down the imaginary life-path of a truly ugly human being.
i could be one someday. if i’m not already in the soul, surely my face will catch up one day when i’m old and i’ve smoked too many cigarettes or malnourished myself into a skeleton. but i’ll always have the remnants of a beautiful face. at least i know this. what will the ugliest man you ever saw look like when ugly really begins to take its toll? when the years of relying on a nobel personality have set into his face to create silver rivers all around his eyes and on the back of his feeble hands? how does he prepare for the day, tolerating what he’s been given? does he not see what i do? and if so, how has he come to accept or disregard it? why can’t i disregard it?!
my observations of the shapes and forms of body parts of the face make me shallow, at the least. and yet i don’t feel that guilty. because i know i’m not alone in my judging, and because pointing and picking (even if internally) at these things i see aren’t done for the sake of dragging someone down or propping myself up- but rather for curiosity’s sake. curiosity about accepting what you’re given, especially if what you’ve been given is a bad dope deal.
i’ve got the good drugs, and yet i always feel cheated. so how must the ugliest man you ever saw feel?