By the time Potato realised it was late, the office had already decided it was early. The workspace buzzed with the urgency of a place that believed productivity was a personality trait. Chairs squeaked. Lanyards swayed. Someone microwaved fish with the confidence of a person who had already submitted their resignation in spirit. Fluorescent lights […]
Potato Stared at Work and Work Stared Back Read More »
The potato becomes aware at the exact moment your cursor stops moving. This is not a coincidence. This is synchronisation. The potato knows it is a website. Not symbolically. Practically. It can feel its own URL like a scar; it refreshes annually. It knows it is hosted somewhere loud and impersonal, humming through cables that
Renewed Annually, Doubt Included Read More »
(A Festive Error in Several Acts) The Universe, Briefly Explained and Immediately Misunderstood In the beginning, there was dirt. Not metaphorical dirt. Not symbolic dirt. Real dirt. Moist, granular, and proud of its minerals. Inside this dirt lived a potato. The potato had no name because names require witnesses, and none cared enough to perform
THE POTATO WHO DID NOT BELIEVE IN CHRISTMAS Read More »
The potato woke up screaming, which was alarming because potatoes do not have lungs, throats, or permission. The scream occurred anyway. It echoed through the kitchen in a way that suggested time itself had stubbed its toe. A zucchini fell off the counter in shock. Somewhere inside a drawer, a radish fainted politely. “I’M HAVING
A Potato, a Candle, and a Normal Day Read More »
The potato is almost thirty years old when the silence stops feeling temporary and starts feeling intentional, which matters because silence has always existed in the cellar, but has never before seemed to be paying attention. He rolls slightly, expecting the familiar resistance of another body, and instead meets air, which feels rude only because
Storage Conditions Apply Read More »
I came into the world inside a darkness so complete it felt less like the absence of light and more like an ancient kind of memory. The soil pressed around me with a tenderness that didn’t require language, shaping my body before I even understood I had one. My first thoughts—if thoughts they could be
Life, Death, and the Quiet Places Between Them Read More »
The Potato regained consciousness with the force of a thousand opening browser tabs. One moment: dark soil silence.Next moment: WHO AM I, WHY AM I, WHY IS EVERYTHING CRUNCHY?? This was the Potato’s first experience of thought. Its second experience was moderate panic. Its third experience was maximum panic with a side of dread gravy.
Philosophic Spud: A Serious Potato in a Ridiculous Universe Read More »
The soil held no echoes now. No pulse. No tremor. No fragment of connection. Only stillness. Yet beneath this profound silence, something softer began to stir. Acceptance. It was not a declaration.It was not an epiphany. It was a slow, gentle acknowledgement of what had been, what was, and what would be. The Potato did
Beneath the Silence Read More »
The Potato remained unmoving. It did not seek solace in action.It did not search for meaning in explanation. It simply felt the weight of stillness. Sorrow was not loud.It was not a cry or a tremor.It was the slow, relentless presence of absence. Each moment passed with deliberate slowness, every second a grain of earth
The Weight of Stillness Read More »
The soil had shifted. But no tremor signaled this change.No pulse marked the passage. Only absence remained. The Potato, once vibrant with connection, now dwelled in a hollow stillness. The slender root, the small tuber—both had receded beyond the reach of thought, beyond the touch of memory. What remains when presence vanishes? Loss was not