a shitpost that i think a lot about now

sometimes i think about those works of art and life that were never appreciated because of the circumstances of their or their creators existence. we often say that "because of ___ it was never shown to many, its opportunities to be loved foreclosed". i think that is wrong. people saw it, you didn't. cult classics are loved by the cult, you just thought they were too strange to resonate with what strangers find comfort in.

maybe this is how i rationalize what should have been loved more. the thought that something so beautiful could have been destroyed by banal prejudice frustrates me. that someone could be denied to show the world their truth because they were born in the wrong time and place, but never the wrong body, saddens me. rather i believe they found their people, you were just never one of them.

those who are disturbed find their comfort in things that are illegible to you. words with strange vowels that your tongue cannot capture. a syntax built of curves you never knew a pen could make. motions of bodies that were never meant to move willingly. it all blends perfectly into the status quo because you cannot even comprehend its grotesque beauty, so you simply tune it out.

it is the immanent revolution that is lived is fragile and subtle ways. such a shame that you are only seeing it now.