coffee cup

                     I have measured out my life with coffee spoons

i love this line of Prufrock. In fact i love every line of Prufrock but that is beside the point. A combination of the state of my room and this line of genius led me to thinking: what if we had just one cup which we weren't allowed to wash and had to drink from forever? Then drinking would be more like life; you couldn't just wash away something which you didn't want in your life anymore and do things without consequences. i haven't taken this experiment to its limit; i do sometimes wash my coffee cup, well it's a mug but the alliteration was far more pleasing, c and m go together like orange and green. Being the classy person i am i also drink red wine, port, whiskey and smoothie out of the same cup. And i drink water too sometimes. Water is the "i'm sorry" of drinks. It partially cleans my cup but when i drink it it always tastes of the last thing in there. i like that. It gives my palate something new and a never ending variation to experience. That goes for all of my drinks. There are all these set combinations of things that go together and this is just my little factory of new things (i always think of the mexican sauce "mole" when combining flavours, if twenty seven spices and chocolate go together nothing is out of the question). Whiskey out of a previously coffee cup: very good, coffee out of a previously whiskey cup: slightly odd. Water with small amounts of old smoothie; lovely. The collage of flavours play on my tongue so that nothing ever tastes the same. It's not just the flavours that mix, the colours do too. i seem to have a penchant for drinks that stain and my cup is rather porous and white. i like white, white shows all experience. Red wine experience, coffee experience, the cup has it's own very special pattern of old droplets of drink snaking down. That's what happens in life. You can't erase what you've done or said, even if you run away from your actions you always know what happened and it will drift into your unconscious; there is only so much water i can drink from my cup and it never obliterates the red and brown trails of former joy, the marks of the cup's past are as indelible as my life's actions. The cup and i, we like that.