Seeing a recent photo of Paul Simon sparked this post. He looked like Joe Biden. The tell tale eye slits and stretched smooth face devoid of wrinkles gives one the aspect of a smooth dough head: a mug that seems like you could poke your finger into it as one would be able to a wet lump of clay. Of course, such an action would leave a permanent hole that would eventually collapse under its own weight, leaving a dimpled sphincter-type scar on the otherwise smooth surface. Anyway. It’s a sign of the times; a psychological riposte to the physical ravages of creeping time.
Seems a bit of the misguided mindset that caused the elites of the Victorian Age to eschew the filth of their intestinal end games for the convenience of a colostomy bag. Just because it’s medically possible doesn’t mean you should do it, does it? Sure, after a certain point in the aging process their is no more ‘gracefully’ about it, time reduces all of us to the aspect of a rotten prune. But still, to those who’ve known us over the course of our lives there will always be some unique trait that sparks a perception that is part and apart from the diminished body and mind they are seeing right before them. Communication and communion of two souls is a process that happens in the past just as much if not more than it is happening in the present. And then again, what is the specific age when we were the ideal version of ourselves?
Reducing one’s physical self to featureless face is a grasping denial, a feeble attempt at refuting the inevitable way of all flesh. Just as faith in God is a refutation of death, turning one’s self into that smooth non player character simulacrum is the same thing, minus faith in anything greater. It seems the norm for those whose drive and talent and subsequent success gave them the means by which to alter themselves against the inevitable march of time, supposedly for the better. It is easy to mark this smooth-faced tribe, but uncertain how to ascribe motive. For one drum-faced politician mentioned earlier, it is the simple cynical play for worldly influence and power that is easy to despise. For others, it is probably just peer pressure and a convenient solution easily bought and paid for that will, in theory, return them to the beautiful semblance that made them unique what must seem not so long ago as time and tide crept up on them to do their worst.
Pointing no fingers that might poke holes in those malleable faces, scarring them with irrevocable orifices, the sad, funny irony some will note, is it it makes all these rich assholes look the same.