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The blackberry sorbet without the sugar is so tart -
unpalatable to the tongue:
it cuts and bleeds and leaves a wound that will not heal.
Complicity in the lies and duplicity: a balm is needed — an emollient to erase the sharp edges.
Brands appropriation and salvation: heartaches and pain transmogrified into marketable commodities,
We inhabit haunted — vaulted — landscapes. A collective communion -
they feign that they comprehend our fears, that they care about our despairs and anxieties: our struggles: crafted into glossy ads. The hard edges and statics erased, so as to not instil discomfort: we aspire to the white man’s dream: the ‘sweet’ vanilla flavoured ice cream.
Strange paradoxes, for we seek not, nor, desire to delineate the reasons why we thus inhabit this reality, the why or who has placed the yoke on our backs -
We are swimming against the tide: doing the front crawl, whilst moving backwards.
We need to escape from ourselves, our real lived experiences, the scolded tea leaves infuse the hot water: stewed — it creates a ‘special bitter brew’.
