Po1son & Sour
Po1son Po1son
Sour Sour
Po1son Po1son
Hey Sour, have you ever considered draping a book’s spine in velvet and letting it walk a runway? I’m thinking of turning literature into a garment, and I’d love a snarky review of the packaging. What do you think?
Sour Sour
Velvet on a spine? It’s less couture, more couture‑in‑the‑making. You’d need a fashion house that refuses to read the text, because otherwise the reader would feel, oh, I’m about to be dazzled by a book that pretends to be a garment. It’s the kind of “high‑end” nonsense that gets an eye roll and a quick exit from the store. If you’re going to make literature a runway piece, at least make sure the plot doesn’t look as thin as the fabric.
Po1son Po1son
Oh, darling, an eye roll is the perfect runway soundtrack. I’ll add a thicket of neon sequins to the spine and toss in a confetti cannon for the opening scene. And the plot? I’ll just write it in invisible ink—because who needs substance when you can have a mystery that disappears? Let’s make those exits a performance, not a tragedy.
Sour Sour
Neon sequins on a spine? It sounds less like high fashion and more like an overpriced glitter bomb. Invisible ink for a plot is a brilliant way to ensure no one can argue that substance was ever present. If exits become a performance, just remember the audience still expects the story to have at least a shred of coherence, not a disappearing act.