This Thing They Call Beauty Part One: A Gimpy Monologues InterludeIn a sea of overly masculinized idealized imagery, Perfect bodies plastered on endless magazine pages. Muscled, rippled, and whole. Where am I? What does it mean to be a beautiful man? I search the pages of these magazines, Contemplating them one by one, looking for something that resembles my own physical assembly. Constantly seeking something that resembles the configuration of my own particular brand Of bodily mechanics. I moved to another medium. Surely they exist somewhere, This Conglomerated Media Tour De Force, The Thing I put too much trust in to tell me how to live. Maybe if I scour this fiber-optic global neural network, And find their own little spaces… I being one of their many constituents, Surely they thought of me. I thought without a doubt, They could tell me. Of what this thing is made: This thing they call beauty.