When I say “the black teapot” I’m surprised that everyone knows what I’m talking about. So little of it is black. And yet you and I know which teapot I mean. We’ve agreed to call this thing a black teapot. If you ask me to get the black teapot from the kitchen, chances are I won’t come back empty-hand
ed saying that there was a black teapot until I turned the light on and then it went away. If I were clever I’d turn the light off and grab it while it was still black. But halfway down the hall to your room I’d pass a light and it would no longer be black. Yet being persistent I’d put it into a pillowcase and if it stayed there it stayed black. The moment I open the pillowcase and remove the black teapot it isn’t black.
Odd that I’m trying to paint this not-staying-still teapot. It’s so impossible it’s interesting. It’s a perpetual failure. Once I accepted that I’ll never get it, it actually began to be fun. These then are my failures, my “not-teapots” teapots.
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