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justdaveisfine@piefed.social ⁨2⁩ ⁨weeks⁩ ago

I’m weirdly reminded of the neuromancer book where the protagonist remarks on a bartender who looks rough but doesn’t bodymod himself to look good. He says something like “When good looks are so cheap, there’s something beautiful about being ugly.”

I probably butchered that quote but I can’t find my copy of the book so it is what it is lol.

Anyways it stuck out as a profound thought and it definitely rings true now. It may not be pretty but its genuine and that’s the most important part of art.

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anamethatisnt@sopuli.xyz ⁨2⁩ ⁨weeks⁩ ago

Ratz was tending bar, his prosthetic arm jerking monotonously as he filled a tray of glasses with draft Kirin. He saw Case and smiled, his teeth a webwork of East European steel and brown decay. […]
The bartender’s smile widened. His ugliness was the stuff of legend. In an age of affordable beauty, there was something heraldic about his lack of it. The antique arm whined as he reached for another mug. It was a Russian military prosthesis, a seven-function force-feedback manipulator, cased in grubby pink plastic.

It’s part of the opening scene of the book. :)

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- justdaveisfine@piefed.social ⁨2⁩ ⁨weeks⁩ ago
  Yeah that’s the scene. I was definitely off but it seems this was the line I was thinking of:
  
  "In an age of affordable beauty, there was something heraldic about his lack of it."
  
  Maybe its about time for another reread, it has been awhile.
  
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binarytobis@lemmy.world ⁨2⁩ ⁨weeks⁩ ago

I had to memorize Shakespeare sonnet 68 in high school, it’s basically about how a person who doesn’t wear powder or wigs made out of dead people’s hair is much more interesting and beautiful for showing their age. It’s never been more relevant than here:

Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,\
When beauty liv'd and died as flowers do now,\
Before the bastard signs of fair were borne,\
Or durst inhabit on a living brow;\
Before the golden tresses of the dead,\
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away,\
To live a second life on second head;\
Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay.\
In him those holy antique hours are seen,\
Without all ornament, itself and true,\
Making no summer of another's green,\
Robbing no old to dress his beauty new;\
   And him as for a map doth Nature store,\
   To show false Art what beauty was of yore.

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