Wednesday, 23 January 2013

On killed moustaches and other villains

My waxed moustache continues to rip bitter vengeance on me … It might be a good time to get a tattoo there now, if I ever wanted one, as most of the upper lip area is completely numb. Those poor little innocent tiny colorless hairs. What foul have they ever done to anybody, except perhaps a little bit of pricking him or a little bit of soup-catching? But it had to be done. No buts about it. General is never as happy as when he is causing me tiny packages of excruciating physical pain. Never a kiss without teeth, never a hug without a bite, never sex without tearing, never a compliment without a razorblade hidden somewhere in that apple. I wouldn’t love him any other way. And love him, fundamentally and madly, I do. So how could I deny him the raw pleasure of ripping off 4/9ths of my facial hair? Just so that he could hold me tight later, when I screamed and cried baby tears?
So now, after the day of eye-watering burn and another day of every pore being turned into a minute infected deep pimple, now there’s numbness and big old ugly zits, purple and everything. You would think that a third into a century old would be above pimples, but guess not. Was it naïve of me to think I will look as smooth and beautiful if I ripped the seven layers of my skin off, as pretty teenage ladies in commercial do? Maybe. But was my beautiful husband happy? Oh, yes. Very, very much. And no. there is never another fucking chance I ever wax anything else off me, ever again. God put those hairs on me for a reason. Maybe he liked boys. I don’t know. But my tiny, see-through, fuzzy little hairs are staying. I’m putting my foot down on that one. Also, I watched Here Comes The Boom and can now overthrow a 250 pound man who’s behind-choking me. I think.
The lesson out of this will be neatly served in my writing. The difference between villains. In Gorgie, the General is simultaneously the villain and the love interest of the lead character. How fucked up is that? Just as fucked up as I like it, thank you. Welcome to the other part of my psyche. He is the one doing most of the beating, most of the scheming, most of the humiliating and most of the emotional scarring. He does all the trampling on what remains of the heroine’s broken heart. He doesn’t even think about it, because to him it matters none. Hence, he’s a villain, a principle one. There are also those parts in which the true character of our characters gets the chance to shine through, such as the lunatic that tries to cut up Gorgo and then the clone who tries to dethrone General and the occasional institution, such as Trinity, which tries to belittle the good thing they have going with blatant greed. There is, however, also the character of Majordomo – a very strong, very powerful character, also very good looking, calm and successful. Tall, quiet – much like the general. This isn’t a coincidence (or the fact that I like very large, very tall men who don’t talk.) He’s evil. And unlike the General – whose mistakes are all forgiven due to his emotional background, Majordomo has no such excuses. He’s not mean because he doesn’t know better, he’s mean for sport. So if I take a look at those two kinds of people now, having grown them so large as to now have a pathos of their own, I see the main difference being - one does little nasty things, but comes out righteous in the end, whereas the other acts righteous overall, if extremely self-righteous also, but is dark and void.
Dunno. Is that passion? Do I forgive a violent man, because his motive is passion?  Am I aroused by a wicket lover, because he grins with that gleam passionately? Likely. Then again what’s hot wrestling/Socratic discussion/lovemaking without even one little bruise?