finifugal
“I’m just sitting here, vibrating in my apartment, at having been given this one chance to live.”
Would you rather be a crystal vase or a clay pot?
The vase is heavy and expensive. It looks decadent. Light sparkles from its facets. Its decoration shatters the view of the room, so all things appear slightly off-center and misaligned. Someone’s placed a palmful of wisteria in the water. The room breathes the aroma to subdue the angst.
The clay pot is squat. Misshapen. Made of minerals, it’s one of a kind by its form though cheap to produce. It costs more by the time it took the potter to craft. The potter's fingers are gnarled by arthritis. Someone’s placed a few pennies and beads in the pot; it cannot hold much. The copper tinkles deep inside.
The vase sparkles—designed for perfection, distorting the perspective.
The pot mutes—conceived from the earth, demanding little visual appreciation.
Photo source.
