The moment of a break.

the vase fell, i remember. life could be divided sharply with before and after periods.

how come vases are made intentionally to be so shattery.

shattery. in my dispair i invented an adjective, just for vases,

“oh boy, this one has beautiful blue and black artwork. and its shattery! i will buy that this intant!”

shattery vases.

shattery ming dynasty reproduction vases.

shattery ming dynasty reproduction vases that i will get in trouble over..

what will be the punishment?

vivisection?

flaying of the scrotum?

being instantly frozen in frozen nitrogen, then tested if i am shattery like a ming vase reproduction?

i close my eye and imagine the vase. it fell. fell down. fell further. now!

freeze this image!

the vase is just touching the hardwood.

it has not shattered. it is just resting upon it. well, the neck isn’t touching even. not yet.

now , let’s examine the wonder that is a shattery vase.

why not, life is going to drastically change in less than a second from this point.

so Mr. Ming. He’s now touching the ground. a milisecond later, the area that is touching, is now a broken mess. it looks almost liquid. the full force of the crash occurs here. and so it is the most shattered. the round edges seem to sink into the floor, as they curve upward , the vase sinks into the flooring. but now, as some of the force is absorbed, and the angle of impact is more perpendicular, the porcelain takes on the more solid flaky quality. shards form and climb higher, growing in size towards the opposite apex. finally, the last vestigrs of the vase as it was, as well as my life as it was, are no longer recognizable. history is made. the sack of rome, the black death, the 2016 election, the vase.

history is broken vases. rarirty of fragments. chrystal and porcalain, now just sharp reminders of what was, never to be again. because of the stupidity and carelesness of man and the shattery nature of reality.

i will now be left with the shards.

i will not pick up the pieces.

i will drive my face through them, or eat them. let the shareds cut me in the pattern that they now form.

i deserve it.

deserving, is what shattery people feel.