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hall and oates and beauty and truth

What is beauty?

Hold up—before you say something stupid and trite and faux-poetic (fauxetic, new word, huzzah) about “a flower growing in a landfill” or “a sunset over a pile of industrial slag” or “robots making love even though their copulatory programming will lead to nothing but the masturbatory fulfillment of their twisted creators” . . . nuts, where was—? That’s right: what is beauty?

Beauty—as defined by the Evil—is an occurrence that, er, occurs when a moment of true, unfettered desperation worms its way into an otherwise banal and/or ludicrous situation. Look, we’re working with the OED people, we’ll gussy up that definition later. But for now, that’s beauty, folks.

Example? Well, the above “heartbreak of robosis” scenario’s not bad. But Evil has something else in mind:

The last 15 seconds of “Private Eyes.” That’s right . . . the Hall and Oates song.

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