Daily story, December 7, 2024

I like things in strange containers. A cup of gravel. A vase of beans. Jelly in my pockets. Gets you in touch with the truth of a thing. Too often we mix things up with their containers, like when the cold soup slides out of a can and hold its shape; like when we think the skin is the person. But spilt things are more their wrongness then they are themselves: milk on the table, blood on the floor. Put something where it’s OK, but just not usual, and you can begin to see it clearly. So, that’s what happened. I know you’re angry. You’ll see it. Just look again.