kintsugi
the warmth of summer in the songs you write
- Joined
- May 9, 2013
- Messages
- 1,971
- Reaction score
- 1,064
warnings: lots of explicit curse words, albeit in a non-english language
SAFFRON GODS
Welcome to Saffron City. People are going to tell you all sorts of things about this place, so I’ll tell you one more: don’t listen. We’re all liars.
It’s the only way you can rest easy. Believing in something else is just a better way of lying to yourself. The elites in their ivory towers feed the lie to themselves as early as they can—getting their kids to believe that a kind and benevolent delibird will come to their house once per year and give out presents. And then that belief blossoms into something even stranger, more sinister: the idea that the good and bad always get what they deserve. It’s their belief in a just world that lets them rest easy at night, the same way that the puercos sleep with eyes weighed down by bribes, the same way that the populace dreams of a brighter future because they saw one of their own managed to claw into the gilding and become the Champion.
Down here, down in the barrios, we don’t have time for that shit. Maybe the gringos worship their fatass snowbird and his gift of inequality, maybe they pretend to love their sacred trio with their gifts to Kanto of searing wrath, galvanizing secrets, and frigid indifference, but we know better. We learn the rules early, and we learn them right. Gods don’t give you jackshit. They take, and sometimes they take everything.
If the gods ever give you something, it comes at a price. That’s something you gotta learn young if you want to make it out alive: whoever, wherever they are, the gods only have one type of currency, the same kind everyone has. The saffron price.
If you want something, you’re gonna have to bleed.
SAFFRON GODS
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0. and the dreamers are bull trapped in porcelain
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0. and the dreamers are bull trapped in porcelain
—————————————————————————————————————————
Welcome to Saffron City. People are going to tell you all sorts of things about this place, so I’ll tell you one more: don’t listen. We’re all liars.
It’s the only way you can rest easy. Believing in something else is just a better way of lying to yourself. The elites in their ivory towers feed the lie to themselves as early as they can—getting their kids to believe that a kind and benevolent delibird will come to their house once per year and give out presents. And then that belief blossoms into something even stranger, more sinister: the idea that the good and bad always get what they deserve. It’s their belief in a just world that lets them rest easy at night, the same way that the puercos sleep with eyes weighed down by bribes, the same way that the populace dreams of a brighter future because they saw one of their own managed to claw into the gilding and become the Champion.
Down here, down in the barrios, we don’t have time for that shit. Maybe the gringos worship their fatass snowbird and his gift of inequality, maybe they pretend to love their sacred trio with their gifts to Kanto of searing wrath, galvanizing secrets, and frigid indifference, but we know better. We learn the rules early, and we learn them right. Gods don’t give you jackshit. They take, and sometimes they take everything.
If the gods ever give you something, it comes at a price. That’s something you gotta learn young if you want to make it out alive: whoever, wherever they are, the gods only have one type of currency, the same kind everyone has. The saffron price.
If you want something, you’re gonna have to bleed.
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