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"a scone enjoying its sconiness" - w.h. auden
this is who we are: baked until firm, dusted with sugar and embedded with the fruit of their choice. perhaps we'll be eaten. perhaps we'll be set aside for a later date, only to be forgotten within a clammy receptacle until we are overgrown with mold. will you accept this fate? or take your place amongst the baked goods of legend?
- the scone scrolls, "on one's sconedness"