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Vivekanand V.
Bearded since: 2000 (on and off).  I am an experimental beard grower.

Comments:
Why did I grow my beard?  At first it was detachment...detachment from the world of pretty-boys that has now emasculated and brainwashed many good men. Afterwards, it became a symbolic manifestation of my goals. Like a farmer, I grow my beard on a barren face, with a particular goal in mind. My hair grows like a crop, swaying elegantly in the motion of my life, reminding me what I must achieve. Then when I finally harvest my beard, I think, "what have I achieved in this time?" I also love the beard, I find it one of the absolute forms of artistic manliness. I love petting it, I love defending it as it is insulted by so many hairless philosophy-impotent people and I love running in a snow storm with it.

How do I feel about my beard? Pecked at, like the vultures eating Prometheus' intestines, by family, friends, and society; I nevertheless love my beard. It is pristine art and a perpetual friend. Calm and stoic in middle of battle; but cute and playful amid good times, facial hair is ultimate. I ask now, for a revolution, for the glory of the beard to return again like brilliant sunshine upon the barren dead faces of pretty boys across the world. I ask for beards to be once again respected and loved.
Keywords: full_beard

Vivekanand V.

Bearded since: 2000 (on and off). I am an experimental beard grower.

Comments:
Why did I grow my beard? At first it was detachment...detachment from the world of pretty-boys that has now emasculated and brainwashed many good men. Afterwards, it became a symbolic manifestation of my goals. Like a farmer, I grow my beard on a barren face, with a particular goal in mind. My hair grows like a crop, swaying elegantly in the motion of my life, reminding me what I must achieve. Then when I finally harvest my beard, I think, "what have I achieved in this time?" I also love the beard, I find it one of the absolute forms of artistic manliness. I love petting it, I love defending it as it is insulted by so many hairless philosophy-impotent people and I love running in a snow storm with it.

How do I feel about my beard? Pecked at, like the vultures eating Prometheus' intestines, by family, friends, and society; I nevertheless love my beard. It is pristine art and a perpetual friend. Calm and stoic in middle of battle; but cute and playful amid good times, facial hair is ultimate. I ask now, for a revolution, for the glory of the beard to return again like brilliant sunshine upon the barren dead faces of pretty boys across the world. I ask for beards to be once again respected and loved.

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