Luxury: A Double-Edged Sword

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As an antonym to reality

See the way she’s sitting? The overly casual draping of her hands across her legs? Does she inspire you to think about wealth and power and the class of the too wealthy and too powerful? Yeah, I know. Me too.

Here’s the problem, there is no such thing as luxury. If we’ve learned nothing else from the rise and perpetual, never-ending, fall and falling of all things Trumpian we have learned about perverse values, disgusting realities, and utter nonsense. You can’t buy luxury. You simply can’t.

We should have also learned by now, that once you’ve gold-plated anything, you’ve made it worthless: a toilet, a light switch cover, a baby carriage, a porno-actress-wife, worthless and useless as a bag of gold coins in the hand of a Pompei guy turned to ash by a pyroclastic cloud.



No matter how you sit or stand, lie around, or crawl naked across a low-lit room to a bearskin rug to try to fuck while making sure not to spill your champagne — luxury will escape you.

Go back to that pic up top: Look at her hands and tell me she feels safe and confident and immune from getting uninvited to the very best social gatherings.

Fuckin’ luxury, you know? Yeah.

Luxury as a synonym for misery


See the way he's standing? The overly confident smirk on his face? Does he make you feel inferior and powerless and the class of the too poor and too helpless? Yeah, I know. Me too.

Here's the truth, there is no such thing as luxury. If we've learned anything from the stories and legends, the myths and morals, of all things human we have learned about greed and corruption, vanity and pride, and ultimate downfall. You can't keep luxury. You simply can't.

We should have also learned by now, that once you've tasted anything, you've made it sour: a fruit, a wine, a lover, a throne, sour and bitter as a mouthful of vinegar in the hand of a Caesar stabbed by his friends.

Stabbed by his Friends


No matter how you dress or talk, flaunt or boast, hoard or waste, or scheme to get more while giving less — luxury will betray you.

Go back to that pic up top: Look at his eyes and tell me he knows happiness and peace and love from the very best people in his life.

Fuckin' luxury, you know? Nah.

Just Weighing Separator

The Filthy Beauty of Inelegance