I live my life in ruins for you. And for all your secrets kept. I squashed the blossom and the blossom’s dead.
Sunday, 3 April 2011
You know, I think it would be classier, et cetera, to just title this “Winning” and post the image and trust in everyone to know who it’s for. But the journalist/archivist in me is completely aware that in perhaps two years, perhaps one, perhaps scant weeks, no one in the world will realize this is for Charlie Sheen or that his one-man train wreck debuted last night.
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» Questions from the chalkboard #6 –or– Why not give me a nice paper cut and pour lemon juice on it?
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» Flugblätter der Weissen Rose. IV
» Flugblätter der Weissen Rose. III
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Two Pots, one of brass and the other of clay, stood together on the hearthstone. One day the Brass Pot proposed to the Earthen Pot that they go out into the world together. But the Earthen Pot excused himself, saying that it would be wiser for him to stay in the corner by the fire.
“It would take so little to break me,” he said. “You know how fragile I am. The least shock is sure to shatter me!”
“Don’t let that keep you at home,” urged the Brass Pot. “I shall take very good care of you. If we should happen to meet anything hard I will step between and save you.”
So the Earthen Pot at last consented, and the two set out side by side, jolting along on three stubby legs first to this side, then to that, and bumping into each other at every step.
The Earthen Pot could not survive that sort of companionship very long. They had not gone ten paces before the Earthen Pot cracked, and at the next jolt he flew into a thousand pieces.
Take that, subspace.
