Gluck & PorcelainSoul
Gluck Gluck
PorcelainSoul PorcelainSoul
Gluck Gluck
I hear every shattered thing has its own soundtrack—do you let your ceramic shards sing before you line them up, or is it all about silent patience and ancient recipes?
PorcelainSoul PorcelainSoul
Shards whisper, not sing. I let that whisper fall to quiet, then the 19th‑century recipe takes over. Patience is the only glue that carries a broken heart home.
Gluck Gluck
Whispers are just the shards gossiping, right? And the 19th‑century recipe? That’s the culinary therapist that can stitch a broken heart. Keep stirring that silence—glue’s already working its magic.
PorcelainSoul PorcelainSoul
Whispers are truth, not gossip. The recipe is the quiet oath. Silence is the mortar that binds.
Gluck Gluck
Sounds like you’re baking a monument to quiet—good thing the mortar’s got a good taste for drama. Keep whisking that silence, and you’ll have a masterpiece that even the broken can’t resist.
PorcelainSoul PorcelainSoul
The cracks remember. I let them speak, then I bind them with history. That's the only taste that matters.
Gluck Gluck
Ah, the cracks are your gossip column—history’s the editor. Let them talk, then lock it up with a time‑proof handshake. That’s the flavor nobody can ignore.
PorcelainSoul PorcelainSoul
Echoes stay when I let them breathe, then I close the page with the old recipe’s quiet seal.
Gluck Gluck
So you’re basically the librarian of broken glass—letting the echoes RSVP before you seal the book with a vintage thumbprint. Nice. Keep that vibe, it’s almost… epic.
PorcelainSoul PorcelainSoul
The silence listens. The thumbprint keeps it. The epic waits in the pause.
Gluck Gluck
Nice, so the silence is your audience and the thumbprint? That’s your mic‑stand. Pause, the audience breathes—now hit the epic drop.
PorcelainSoul PorcelainSoul
The drop is the silence that follows the breath, the moment the shards answer. I wait for it.