burningbluephlanets

my three favorite things are the oxford comma, irony, and missed opportunities

beautiful women will be like “i baked a cake” and you will say “oh ? what flavour is it” and they say well its a honey rosewater apricot pistachio cardamom vanilla fig jam earl grey poppyseed orange blossom extra virgin olive oil chiffon sponge soaked in raspberry elderflower champagne lipgloss pomegranate matcha ginger blueberry cherry blossom magnolia petal almond passionfruit persimmon syrup with whipped amalfi lemon limoncello ricotta goats cheese honeycomb black pepper bergamot lemon thyme lemon balm rosemary chantilly whipped cream cream cheese feta cheese italian meringue frosting . like ok. i want to spend the rest of my afternoons walking around inside your beautiful mind like a garden

in one of those phases of crippling existential self-doubt where the nervous horse that controls my productivity is just lying down in the mud and won't get up. the horse is asking questions like do I deserve carrot for big jump if big jump meaningless and is it wrong to be a horse. I'm trying to goad it with compliments and treats but so far the horse won't bite, it's too busy ruminating about the cosmic value of horses

we're telling the horse you can make the jump, you're such a special horse for being able to do the big jump, everybody loves it when they get to watch a big jump, you will get so many carrots, and the horse is not buying it. it's just snorting at us. the horse is saying well there are other horses and flicking mud at us with its tail without getting up. we're telling the horse: but not for us! you're the only horse in the world to us! what must we offer you, nervous horse? o, nervous horse, take pity on your believers!

the horse is questioning the validity of a system in which carrots are rewarded to horses who make the big jumps, seeing as every horse wants a carrot and big jumpers are few, and wants to know why we can't love it for its talents in identifying threats like plastic bags blowing in the wind & being so alert it has a nervous breakdown, instead of expecting it to jump all the time, and perhaps the horse would enjoy a career in calligraphy or nursing instead of this jumping for carrots rigamarole. our negotiator was forced to state that the horse is, nonetheless, a horse. the atmosphere remains tense.

there are calcified layers of shame in my soul that you could carbon date like rock strata