destruction. like an adult.


like clay pots we break open not out of disgust for the clay but out of curiosity. our wonder is greater, more mature than that of the child. we watch in anticipation at where exactly the cracks will appear, hoping for one separate from the seam, perhaps a vertical one across the horizontal lid. yes, our sense of curiosity, while rooted in childhood, has matured. we break clay pots to hear the crash and wonder if it’ll be a B flat or a C sharp. there’s a good chance if you break enough pots you’ll eventually get two or three in a row from the same key. something playable on a funk album. something you’d listen to while watching pots fall from a roof, to set a beat, instead of determine a melody. because our wonder is no longer like that of a child’s.

no, we break things for more mature reasons

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