Feb. 2nd, 2023 01:27 am
02022023 dear acquaintances
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donesingingi have been working hard recently. very few orders have come in
when i first started, i imagined it would be like a rusty sea and bottles washing up eeevery day. a little sparkle and excitement for all of us. look! look, a friend to please! but it never ended up being that way. it was so sparse. like vinegar is so fearful. "one balsamic, please. thank you." who are you? what's your name? i miss you, whoever you are, even though i never knew you. i want to understand why you're speaking to me through a tin can.
i love tin cans. learning who's there. who who who .
can i be soft again? is it okay if i reach down into the depths of the soil and pull up roots you'll understand? is it alright if i send my heart down the wire in small taps? i miss being vulnerable to excitement. now all i feel is fear. i want to scream and say "here i am! look at me, hold out your hand to me, tell me why you want balsamic! what's your favorite dish? who taught you to cook?"
but we can't always win, can we? sangu's not built for connection beyond the bottle and the lips. it wasn't built for blue and red and red and blue, it was built for chrome and lofty sterile dreams. that's good, too. we can't get caught up. we can't ignore what we're selling. precision in product, popularity, placement, the right amount of tang and caring for the mother of vinegar.
is it a betrayal not to tell everyone who buys from us that i love them? is it a betrayal to? is she jesus because she alone offers forgiveness and freedom, or am i, for i was reborn in a cave as he was, and enveloped in thorns? who is judas?
who's on the other end?
when i first started, i imagined it would be like a rusty sea and bottles washing up eeevery day. a little sparkle and excitement for all of us. look! look, a friend to please! but it never ended up being that way. it was so sparse. like vinegar is so fearful. "one balsamic, please. thank you." who are you? what's your name? i miss you, whoever you are, even though i never knew you. i want to understand why you're speaking to me through a tin can.
i love tin cans. learning who's there. who who who .
can i be soft again? is it okay if i reach down into the depths of the soil and pull up roots you'll understand? is it alright if i send my heart down the wire in small taps? i miss being vulnerable to excitement. now all i feel is fear. i want to scream and say "here i am! look at me, hold out your hand to me, tell me why you want balsamic! what's your favorite dish? who taught you to cook?"
but we can't always win, can we? sangu's not built for connection beyond the bottle and the lips. it wasn't built for blue and red and red and blue, it was built for chrome and lofty sterile dreams. that's good, too. we can't get caught up. we can't ignore what we're selling. precision in product, popularity, placement, the right amount of tang and caring for the mother of vinegar.
is it a betrayal not to tell everyone who buys from us that i love them? is it a betrayal to? is she jesus because she alone offers forgiveness and freedom, or am i, for i was reborn in a cave as he was, and enveloped in thorns? who is judas?
who's on the other end?