Psychopath : Fading Beauty
You are fading away, day by day, moment by moment, the beauty that you and other things that possess it slowly being leeched. With each passing second, another moment of decay has taken hold on that which once bore beauty and renders it ashen and defunct.
In the natural world, I turn my attention to a vibrant garden blooming with a myriad of flowers. Each petal possesses a distinct hue, perfectly symmetrical and radiant. However, as time progresses, the once-vibrant colors begin to fade, losing their intensity. The petals lose their tautness, becoming softer and more delicate to the touch. Gradually, the edges curl and wilt, losing their crispness. The petals, once full and abundant, wither and fall, littering the ground with their faded remnants. The once-lush foliage surrounding the flowers begins to lose its vibrancy as well. The leaves lose their luster, turning a dull shade of green before gradually transitioning to hues of brown and eventually crumbling into a pile of decay. Decay , decay waits ready to lay its claim.
I observe an individual in their prime, their features meticulously crafted, and their radiance captivating. But the passage of time leaves its mark. Fine lines begin to etch across their face, subtle creases that trace the stories of their experiences. The skin, once smooth and supple, loses its elasticity, sagging and losing its firmness. The vibrant glow that once adorned their complexion fades, replaced by a more subdued tone. Hair, once lustrous and full, may thin and lose its color, turning gray or even falling away altogether. The body, once endowed with youthful vitality, may gradually succumb to the effects of gravity, muscles losing their tone and definition. There comes the need for replacement.
I look upon a masterpiece crafted by a skilled artist. The colors on the canvas initially exude vibrancy, each stroke purposeful and meaningful. However, the passage of time takes its toll. Sunlight and environmental factors seep into the artwork, causing the pigments to fade and lose their brilliance. The once-sharp lines and intricate details soften, blurring the boundaries between forms. The texture of the canvas itself may deteriorate, becoming fragile and brittle. Over the years, the artwork loses its initial impact, and the beauty it once possessed gradually fades into a mere shadow of its former self.
I am driven to understand the process by which that which I see around me falls prey to the ceaseless march of time. The power of fading. I meticulously record the physical transformations and changes that occur as beauty fades away.
One can observe the ephemerality of beauty in various contexts, such as the natural world or artistic creations.
In the realm of human experiences, the concept of beauty fading away can be observed in relationships. Initially, the excitement and novelty of a romantic partnership can be captivating and visually pleasing. However, as time passes, the initial feelings of infatuation dwindle, and the physical attraction that once seemed paramount may give way to a deeper and more nuanced understanding of one another, but not for me. I grow bored of this inability to remain fresh and vital and thus I am repeatedly driven to reassess, replace and renew.
I have learnt from dedicated study that the passage of time can also impact societal perceptions of beauty. Cultural norms and ideals evolve over generations, and what was once considered beautiful may lose its prominence in favor of new standards. This shift can be observed in fashion trends, where styles that were once celebrated may become outdated or unfashionable, leading to a transformation in the perception of beauty. This only serves to reinforce my disdain for the ephemeral nature of humanity, focused on the trivial, obsessed with the minutiae, so many unwilling to strive and score the universe with permanence.
From a scientific standpoint, the observation of beauty fading away can involve studying the physiological changes that occur with age or environmental factors. Researchers may investigate the impact of oxidative stress on skin health, the degradation of pigments in natural landscapes, or the structural deterioration of ancient architecture. One might analyze the biological processes and environmental factors that contribute to the fading of beauty. This observation could include studying the degradation of collagen and elastin fibers in skin, the impact of free radicals on cellular structures, or the influence of cultural norms on beauty standards.
I adopt the approach of the objective analysis, yet from my many soundings that I have taken, it is to be acknowledged that beauty remains a deeply personal and subjective experience. Beauty is a subjective concept that can encompass various aspects of the world, including nature, art, or even individual appearances. It is often associated with qualities such as symmetry, harmony, and aesthetic appeal.
The fading of beauty is not solely a visual phenomenon but encompasses a multitude of emotional, cultural, and psychological elements that I have witnessed affects people in differing manners. I log these responses, keeping them as watchword within my mind, storing them for when they shall prove useful to me.
Time and time again I have watched as beauty has faded away, I have watched as many strive to halt such degradation and in the process making a mockery of what once appeared so radiant and alluring. I noted that to halt the march of time is an exercise in futility and instead there lay a more effective way to deal with the fading of the beauty in the world.
“The eyes of men love to pluck the blossoms from the faded flowers they turn away.” So stated Sophocles.
It is only certain men that do this, those that see how everything fades and even then seek to take one final time as an antidote to that decay.
I am one of those men.
33 thoughts on “Psychopath : Fading Beauty”
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Aging is cruel.
Well this makes sense since you can’t attach to people, you don’t see the value in growing older with someone. Everyone is replaceable as soon as something new and shiny comes along
I remember when I was with a male narc and we were passing by someone I knew and when she left he said to me “damn she’s beautiful, do you have her number? Actually forget it, there are millions of girls like her”
My town has the most beautiful sky.
It’s an especially dynamic sky. Not only seasonally does it do a big change, but it can have drastic shifts from one moment to the next. I can be climbing the little hills near my home in 80 degrees Fahrenheit, under the clearest blue, and in a couple of moments find myself chilled, chastised by silver ropes of thick rain. Then it’s back again to sunshine and clarity in the next five minutes, as though storms could never exist in this place. My sky turns over so quickly, without warning. If you don’t like the weather here, as the saying goes, wait a minute.
It’s also beautiful to me because no matter what happens in it, it remains essentially untouched. Flocks of migrating geese, airplanes, debris, haze, storms, smog, smoke—these cross it, move through it, sometimes make it appear dirty–but they never truly affect it. My sky accommodates, accepts, takes in, and it’s still there behind and beyond, being itself.
My sky also sees my small life and remains unmoved. Sometimes I look deeply into it until its immensity and emptiness absorb me. Once it brought out of that reverie by a dollop of bird crap to the eye.
By night my sky tangles me in a net of stars. Last year it chased me with a tornado like the finger of God.
I suppose others think they have such a beautiful sky as well. Perhaps they’re right. But I belong under this sky and so it’s the most beautiful to me. Turbulent, aloof, open, and exquisite. For now, it sees fit to indulge my existence; tonight, it may send a bolt of death to end me. It’s the sky I live under, of all the skies in the world.
I’ve attended many funerals where death occurred after prolonged, ravaging illness. I’ve also attended those of people who died suddenly through accident, murder, or other mishap. I find evidence of the art of the mortician in either case interesting (we prefer these techniques in my country).
Many times during the parade of mourners in the funeral, when I got my turn in line, I’d take the opportunity to touch the corpse. Usually the face. I discovered that my initial worry at being seen doing this was misplaced; people make allowances for expressions of grief.
Hard, smooth, cool. Like a wooden shell. In Texas we liked strong preservation. Maybe the heat and humidity made us fans of powerful embalming fluid mixtures. Wrinkles were similar to fine carving. The very young seemed too polished, almost featureless. I’d resist the urge to rap the chins or foreheads with my knuckle, but that was difficult.
Invariably, no matter how much thread, tissue filler, or wax was used to replace or immobilize parts, or how the artifice of makeup gave an impossible bloom to the dead cheeks, I’d overhear as mourners leaned in: “So beautiful. So natural.”
Whilst it’s true, we all fade. I think mother nature also helped us by fading our eyesight somewhat ahead of the rest of our physical form. I can no longer see the hairs growing out of my chin, because they’ve turned white and my eye sight has faded hahaha.
Dear alexissmith2016,
Too true!
I tweezed 3 witch’s hairs from my mum’s chin the other day! She has glaucoma and can’t see a great deal anymore.
Fading beauty for them is real. I take a pic of her every time I visit and show her, she hates every photo. Sad 😔 even for a narc !
Oh my bubbles haha wow you tweezer your mum’s hairs and take a photo of her. That’s hilarious. My generosity never extended that far.
Making me think so much about one of my grandmother’s right now – whom I adored but didn’t adore those hairy kisses or the spit washes lol sorry HG, nothing related to narcissism.
Dear Alexissmith2016,
I currently cut mum’s hair, spray on her favourite perfume and apply her lippy. I’ve given her maddies and peddies over the years, along with everything else that goes with caregiving.
Why, you well may ask? I just do what I gotta do!
I know my daughter will do the same for me one day ☺️
I think we all had a relly that had a hairy mole or chin hair and spit clean on just about anything ……and yet we all live to tell the tale
🤣
Dear Bubbles,
I don’t think I can rely on my terrier to do that for me. Need to find an alternative route now that you mention…maybe I’ll die young.
Dear Sweet Pea,
You have the love of your terrier for now ….. that’ll do pig, that will do 💕
(Babe the movie ) hehe lalalala
That was cute, awww. I love Babe.
Sorry for my previous morbid comment, Bubbles. I just received Tudor confirmation that my sister is a narcissist and, though unsurprised, I don’t feel very good. I am not saying this in an attempt to fish for sympathy, just needed to bring it out where it can be understood because nobody around me knows much about narcissism so they would act like “here you are again with that nonsense?” In a way it is a relief. It is validation of a life of triangulation, belittling, silent treatments, passive aggressiveness, control… but it still hurts.
Hi Sweet Pea,
Its ok if you’re fishing for sympathy. We all understand. I’m glad you got the validation you needed and I understand your sadness too. Sending hugs.
Sorry SP about your sister. 💜
I am sure the confirmation, as you say, makes sense of your past with her.
Personally, I often feel (when I discover another narc in my midst, or past) how the circle of people I know with emotional empathy gets smaller – at the same time, I appreciate those individuals all the more.
Dear Sweetest Perfection,
What morbid comment hehe ? At least your doubt has been confirmed, which is a relief. Of course it hurts Sweetest, especially when it’s your family.
Any one who ACTS like “Here you go again with that nonsense” ……tells me everything I need to know about that person Sweetest.
I wouldn’t waste my time or breath on them.
You’re the better person Sweetest 💕
Dear Mr Tudor,
“beauty is in the eye of the beholder” ….so true !
It’s not the ‘outer’ beauty that counts, more importantly, it’s the ‘inner’ beauty that’s real!
A ‘beautiful’ read, thank you
There was a Harvard study on the brains of psychopaths that found that they were bad at determining choices made today and how it will make them feel in the future or poor decision making. Perhaps this explains why what a psychopath decides today is beauty won’t be in the future. This poor insight into beauty. Beauty is a matter of perspective afterall. And the person you love today if an empath may be more beautiful tomorrow!
This article also reminded me of your video ‘Bryan Johnson : An Immortal Narcissist?’.
There are indeed many sayings for ageing
“The years have not been kind”
“Aged like a fine wine”
Some look better as they age, than they did in their youth
Their prime as some say.
You see it in celebraties how they try everything to remain young. Plastic surgery, the works. Making a strange mask out of their once attractive features.
There is a new film on Netflix. It is a German film, where the rich pay for more years of youth using the DNA from the poor who sell their years…. The film is called “paradise”
Here is the YouTube link to the trailer.
Thank-you for sharing Asp Emp. 🩷
I can relate on two levels – my cat (I had him for 15 years) endured my ensnarement with me, and he “healed” along with me after escaping – I still haven’t been able to bring myself to get another cat…(I visit my friend’s two affectionate cats if I need a fix..)
And, I get what you mean re: the inner core of the “beautiful” people in my life – it remains. And their impact on me remains, even once they are gone.
It’s clear your dog was very dear to you.
These particular articles of HG are very thought provoking.
WhoCares, thank you for your response. I understand exactly what you mean about getting a ‘fix’ from someone else’s cats. I also know exactly why you have not got yourself another cat. It really hurt when I saw other people’s dogs out and about, I also avoided programmes about dogs, for a really long time. It’s ok now. Yes, I agree about the impact of the ones we love(d) because if it were not for them, we would not have experienced it (to be aware of the difference).
Oddly enough, (early this morning) I dreamt that I was in the bath and to the side of me, water was overflowing from the sink, onto the floor and it was deep. At the bottom (on the floor) was a Labrador puppy that had drowned, I picked it up and hung it upside down, it started breathing again. I held it close. Then I woke up.
Yes, these articles can reach into the depths of one’s being.
Asp Emp,
🩷🩷🩷
Thanks for sharing your dream.
Sometimes the musings of our minds at night, while we sleep, serve up something that conveys an experience that cuts right through any intellectualization of it. That dream seems like one of those.
WhoCares, yes, I wondered about that 🙂
My poor emotions, not quite fully ‘recovered’ from re-reading and sending my comment to ‘The Observation of Pain’ article. I could, logically thinking, write a comment under this article after an acceptable “recovery” time, ie, to bring the emotions under better control. Yet, at the same time, my LT suggested to write it anyway while under the “influence” of my own ET.
Why? As a test.
Reading this article, I was recalling my dog. I can just imagine HG’s thinking, oh, god, she’s going to write about her dog! Then again, that is the wrong approach, to assume what HG is thinking about what I am writing about here.
When I first met my dog, she was a vibrant, young 3.5 year old. Full of life, vitality and intelligent. Confident. Strong. Healthy. Ran fast. Oh, her eyes. She had emotions of her own, a dog’s version / understanding of human behaviours by actions and the voice. She sensed when I was upset, my pain, my joy. To observe her when she suffered illness due to adverse reaction to the Vet’s annual prescription was traumatising. She eventually tried to refuse it, because she learned it made her ill. I told the vet, they did not listen. Until I told someone else about it and they intervened, so the annual medication was changed. In time, her behaviours started to change, doing things that were not usual of her. Staring at the wall where nothing was there. Running in large circles that became smaller over a couple of years. In the last year of her life, I informed the vet of dog senile dementia and the vet was surprised ?! She had arthritis in one leg. Yes, her hair changed, getting greys / whites around her face, on her body yet retained it’s black & tan colours. The interesting thing was despite her dementia worsening ie not responding when I called her, I’d put this down to possibly hearing loss yet maybe it was because of the dementia and her mind not registering the messages to the brain (thought processes change, not necessarily ‘selective’), her overall demeanour did not change. She slept more. Ate / drank the same amount. The morning she was put down, I was prepared (mentally had been for over a year or more), yet, my emotions had not quite ‘registered’ what to expect. I was with her. It was not easy to refrain myself from being too emotional as I had to be strong (for her) as well as myself. The vet said that I did a good job for her at the end. I was emotionally ‘blocked’ (shock). I’m crying now. My throat hurts. However, the heavy & immense ‘mass’ is not ‘present’ (usually deep in the abdomen area, the ‘abyss’), my chest hurts a bit, not as strong as it would have done in the past. I loved her, my constantly loyal and trustworthy companion of 14 years, she never let me down.
My dog’s inner ‘beauty’ did not change. Just some of her behaviours yet they did not (in my perception) ‘determine’ from what she once was and became.
What am I getting at? My grandmothers never ‘changed’, their inner ‘beauty’ remained despite the exterior becoming older. Their ‘core’ personality / characteristics did not change. They did not become ‘bitter’.
I left it a while before posting & re-read it. No matter how much time passes, the ‘ET’ over my dog returns when I think (write) about her yet lessens in length of time & depth of pain because of the learned LT / managing ET methods.
This article is another great piece of writing, good to read it and see how much you do understand. Thank you X
Asp Emp,
Your comment about your dog was beautiful. Losing them is utterly heartbreaking, I can’t think about mine either without getting upset. As you say the upset is equally as raw when I remember but it doesn’t last as long as it did at the time.
My current dog is roughly 12, aged over the last 12 months or so but still fit and I still call him “cheeky little pup”. Hasn’t changed, not to me, still my boy.
Xx
The vet told me with my 13.5 year old bulldog Scouser… you don’t want to be too early, you don’t want to be too late. He had dementia and would bark for hours then seem normal. When it was his time, my son was there my marine with his best friend and I. I kissed his head and I swear he was grateful. So tired. They are living angels with short beautiful lives;) Hope Cheeky lives a long life! X
Thank you Contagious.
We remember, carry them with us in our hearts as we do all of our loved ones.
Xx
Truthseeker, yes. We were so blessed;)
Oddly enough, as I read this article, I thought of ie no matter how much a laptop is looked after, no matter the age of the said machine, the internal parts of it start to disintegrate, whether it is hardware, or, software. For example, I have a 16 year old machine that works well to play a DVD on it yet is useless for use as the hardware has no capability to go further than Windows Vista !
So is Leo DiCaprio.
SP, so sorry to read about your recent news (NDC). I can understand how you feel. Thank you for sharing about that.
Thank you Asp Emp.
I’ll ponder this whilst I’m at ‘legs, bums and tums.’
I am fascinated by the changing of all things by the passing of time. Older versions of our once young selves are poignant stories .
I may be a little unique in the way of my memory.
I have clear access to memories from pre 1yr old. I have clear memories of the character I always was, regardless of my age, but with the passing of time , that character has attained skills and information but the ‘me’ inside, was and is always constant.
Most people will not believe my experiences as they have no frame of reference because most other people’s memories have no conscious recall of experiences before 4/5yrs old; Often even much later in life do memories begin.
I’ve travelled and worked with so many people and nobody I ever met has had similar memory recall that I myself have.
There are only two others who i know of, that also recall memories pre 1yr old ( much less than my recall but, its there. )
Following conversations on this subject and discovering similar memory experiences, those two people are my father and my daughter. Strange no?
From my point of view, time both stands still in a sense, but also hurtles forward at break neck speed.
Reading this article brought to mind a poem I wrote, which I will share here, not meant as self promotion, only for the sharing of ideas and viewpoint.
‘The Muted Chime’
The gossamer bound wind chime
Still tinkles.
At times,
When nature demands testimony.
Sweet dancing sunlight doesn’t blink or shimmer
Under the veil.
Where passive tubular lungs,
Held captive,
Forgot the passage of nature.
The tempest,
The giggle,
The dance,
The sway.
The melodies lost to the aged, complex weave.
The pattern that perpuates the enthrall
Suspends time as if a moment held back;
As the last second a water droplet holds form,
Before the drip, drops,
Or is denied in ice.
Last dance of a wind chime,
Slows til stop.
Peaceful banishment from the telling of time..
PoetLoui.
🙏