The power of brand names. What does it mean if a company summons sweet memories for you? Well I reckon it doesn’t have to mean anything.
But you come into this world — you are strung along with celestials, ancestors transfer their blood in you, reality unfolds at rapid pace.
And it all results in some Dippin’ Dots at the park.
How isn’t that anything but strangely sublime?
It happened. But a blip in time. There was the attendant and I agonized as usual, only in a smaller frame. Strawberry sounded just right for the day.
For those who’ve never had Dippin’ Dots, they sell mouse-sized sphere-bites of ice cream. Literal dots. The manufacturing process, I presume, sprays liquid ice cream into nitrogen gas, solidfying it in mid-air. So they shuffle the ice shovel around. They’re like rocks of smooth cream sugar. Two scoops and here’s your flimsy bowl. You get a little wooden paddle for a spoon, too. What a strange way to consume; what a strange thing to consume!
Why in the world did everything happen this way, to lead to a wooden paddle with melting sphere glops? With this light pink that pops against the winding path lush with activity?
You can be certain I’ll probably never have Dippin’ Dots again.
But that’s a fact: the world arranged itself for a summer day, eating Dippin’ Dots.
What a terrifyingly strange yet beautiful fact.
One of many.