The Salsicha of Monalisa

A friend once told me that beauty is sad.
Walking around today, I craved to write. The habit becomes a vice. According to Wikipedia (the new truth's master). “Vice is a practice or a habit considered immoral, depraved, and/or degrading in the associated society. In more minor usage, vice can refer to a fault, a defect, an infirmity or merely a bad habit. Synonyms for vice include fault, depravity, sin, iniquity, wickedness and corruption. The modern English term that best captures its original meaning is the word vicious, which means "full of vice" In this sense, the word vice comes from the Latin word vitium, meaning "failing or defect". Vice is the opposite of virtue.” After reading it, I almost got ashamed of my new vice. Considering my new position in this world full of vice, I can
guarantee my new addiction won't matter. I hate to notice that the meaning of the word vice, takes so much space in this text. It is suppose to be my words here. Not the words of some definition that someone full of vices wrote down. I am ignorant. I don't even know what this person ate tonight. Or even if this person is still around. I hope so. But I don't want to know. I just want to write about what this person ate. What passed through his or her mouth tonight. I have the image in my mind. The person walking through his or her apartment, wearing just an old shirt, opening the fridge and taking something nasty to eat. That person is lonely and imprudent. I can see this being going back to the sofa, siting there, holding an old almost rotten salsicha, chewing it with no attention at all. Just there, in an almost frozen moment. And right before swallowing it, a though crosses her or his mind: “what if I Monalisa was a man?” That thought changes something inside that person and again another bite he/she
takes. The person who wrote the wikipedia definition of vice chews fucking salsicha Tuesday's night thinking about Monalisa. This whole thing is a very old scene. A classic representation of a contemporary lonely person. Nothing intriguing if wasn't for the salsicha. Salsicha “tells a lot about a person.” Now you may be thinking, who's more miserable, the fictional character who sits alone eating salsicha thinking about Monalisa, or the writer siting alone writing about the
vice character? I just have one thing to say: Monalisa didn't eat salsicha. Nobody that ever ate salsicha could look like that. Everyone that ever ate salsicha have a different smile. And it isn't an enigmatic one. It's a more explicit and objective one. It's almost like pleasure/guilty kind of thing. Monalisa's smile it's more like: “Hum, I am hiding the salsicha, and I won't give it to you. It feels good.” The smile of someone who ate the salsicha is more like: it feels good now, but I kind of feel bad for the horses... I will pay for it in the bathroom later. I can enjoy the feeling now.” I am not a fan of salsichas, but that's not the point now. I just can't stop thinking that the absence of the salsicha brings some sadness to Monalisa's look, and it make it beautiful. But I am still not sure if my friend was right. But anyway, today, while talking to a friend, I decided to be ugly, ugly in every sense. And just let the ugliness come out from everywhere in me. It's soooo much easier like that. It doesn't require much and there's no pressure. Being ugly changes
things around and the world becomes lighter and probably even more beautiful. Funny and beauty are different similar things. I want to end this. I want the end to be locked. I want the end to be a nice thing. It doesn't have to be something with a value attached to it. It can be only a pseudo beginning, like the end of a circle. A circle always have and end, we just can't see it, because it hides it very well. This is the charm of a circle. The charm of everything closed and with no apparent end. The endlessness is a charming thing that can only be because it will end at the end.