“Asking a question is embarassing for a moment, but not asking is embarassing for a lifetime.”
“Double Pleasure, Double Measure.” Extremely bland bottle and label. Ugly “necessary” information, boring black cap. I like the colour scheme, but this is honestly one of the least interesting bottle designs I’ve seen.
Very light scent that is primarily comprised of kola, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Texture is good, but on the sticky side. There’s a small amount of tongue bite, but nothing near mass marketed drinks. Carbonation is low medium; not flat, but calm. Deeper than normal colour.
Flavour is somewhat watered down, but contains all the flavours that the scent predicts. There’s also an earthy, raw, rough but very enjoyable flavour beneath. Fairly low citrus and vanilla flavouring, but still a very standard cola.
Makes mouth sticky quickly and is above-average filling. There’s a light refreshing aftertaste. Not many nuances to the flavour, and nothing new is revealing itself. Caffeine content is good, at least – an early and pleasant buzz.
Label: 1 The colour scheme is decent. That is all.
Bottle: 1 Nothing whatsoever to make it stand apart.
Colour: 2 Darker than beautiful. This would get a 3, but the flavour does not match the strength of the colour at all.
Nose: 4 Wonderful, just a bit simple.
Density: 3 Good density, but too sticky.
Flavour: 3 Solid flavour, just nothing unique.
Caffeine: 5 Comes in quick and feels good. An above average buzz. Rather uplifting.
Average: 54% or 19/35
A standard and solid cola that is poorly packaged. I doubt this could be anyone’s “favourite,” but definitely better than mass marketed cola. If it could be found for a price similar or slightly more expesive than Coca Cola, it’d be a worthy replacement. In line with my belief that colas should be enjoyed and not simply swallowed, I’d say this is a useless beverage. I realize not everyone has that belief however, and for those who have a “normal rotation,” – their “fall back” or cheaper drinks when company is over, this would be it. There is little unique or outstanding about this, but it could have been far worse.
Apostrophes tell no tale that do not stem from this chamber. When forgetful hearts mar forgiven sports, the moon will not rise four times this month. Everything is blasphemous; the world rages in terror, unforgiving. My soul would screech while tethers bleed, flames breed – cinders need. Don’t rage, but forgive; our lives are not ours, but to give. Oh, but the breath! The breath would simmer our spines, scorching our eyes, bowing, lacking pride. The earth speaks and rumbles no lies; no shodden hammer tied. This shack made of wood collapses on us. Gone are nails. Gone is the breeze. Let torrents fill their place. Let torrents feel my face. Let the tips of our fingers scrape against no creation, but let them help it along.Forging on into no unknown land, this brow is crossed, broken, flowing. These feet are bare and sore. Barren shores, bear in scorn. Let not that wave abolish our Dear, but let us raise heat in fear (quick and sharp tears). Amber recedes to each of their needs; shouting at seas, burying our knees. But are our shins as sharp? Have we fine-tuned the harp? Do ribbons run deep and coffins carried in dark? Is this a lip we now kiss and swallow true bliss? Can we rage with failed fists or burn sunken ships? Bury these trysts in the sturdiest of mitts? Wallow in the midst and cower in mist? Turn from vain fits while minutes flit as fish? Looking not for a wish in the sky, torn to bits. Avoiding male hits while the Dear sits? Begging for form in the doctor’s lost kits?Oh, but our life! This life we hold dear – we form feeble bonds and shine ’til it’s clear.
Deep dark window, sealed with bolts; purposefuly shut tight. Silk shine, still sharper lines, getting ready for your fall. Fog horn, you call. They line up, they unfurl: “Boys on this side, this side girls.” You’re finding all these seas had to offer. You’re finding all this world has to offer tonite. They warned you; I know I warned you.
Painted smiles, painted eyes – this wishy washy paradise. For a cup filled with ice – you like it cold. You’re so bold to state your beliefs, scribbling them on parchment- on parchment leaves. They ship it all to my Wife of Folly. It’s all your fault, oh Capitan. Your shoes are fixed just right, you could use some help with that tie. Unfog, I beg; unfog, I beg; unfog, I beg; unfog. I could really use these eyes about now. I’m begging and pleading: “Show me how.” How can I fly with no idea? You’ve no idea.
Full frame, immortalize us in flame. Sink down with me, I beseech thee. Sink down deep in me, and try to reach me. Easily accessible and screwing bolts – that dark deep blue rushes in and rushes in. We’ve problems-a-plenty. We’ve sprung leaks… so many. You’re working hard. Let the boiler room boil in these underwater flames. All those that work that were coming – they kept spurning their heart. They’ve done their part. They’ll leach as we spin. We’ll sing to whirlwinds. Hands all around in stripes; this immortal nite belongs to us and no one within. I’m within.
Hey, cover those windows! Block out light! Shutter closed! Let’s make it airtight! And let smoke steal its freshness from us. Let us keel over as we kill our lungs, as it’s a too-simple metaphor for our selves and for our sanity.
Smokestacks or sails or waterwheels or oars or hands that propel – you’re done. We’re happy. We haven’t quite reached our destination, or have we? Is our destination too heavy? We’re sinking. All of our minds together, thinking. Let’s join our wrists in a similar fashion. It wont help, but still – it’s some purposeful action to keep our minds on a one track line. Think of all those lands at home, and share a final smoke. No one will tell them; they’ll search for years, covering their helpless fears. Clouded blue.
Blue and white. That Little-Pony-Tails will cry: “Where have they gone? Why have they gone? Will they return?” I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
I still have several cola reviews written and ready, but I’m going to try out writing different beverages, starting with one very close to my heart – Coffee.
Aroma: Spice, jasmine, vanilla & raisin
Flavor Notes: Spice, nutty, cedar, earth & leather”
So there you have it.
While passing time inhaling weak smoke without letting it seep into my lungs, I paced in cold sweat. Past victories restored no warmth within me as I erratically rubbed my scalp. Holding my phone to my left ear, the ringing kept on in frustratingly steady rhythm. I try the three numerical variations, all to no avail, and shove my phone, hot from the Sun, into my back pocket.
I see a man, bag tucked beneath his arm, walking to the highest point on this rooftop parking lot. His tie flaps in the cool breeze that’s made its way a mere three miles inshore. The tips of the flapping cloth are of perfectly equal length – a fashion conscience man. The light blue shirt is well fitted, and his metal heels tap the Sun seared concrete, with worn parking lines and crumpled tire stops to match.
He doesn’t turn to look at me, but I attempt to appear politely preoccupied by looking at the light poles, glimpsing about in search of cameras. There are none. He stared down from the ledge and I turn to blow the smoke downwind. I had the same thought as you do now, and when I turned, I was alone.
Some nites, as I secure the latch to our household, I grow afraid. My feet request permission to take on a life of their own, so that they may step out the gate and not stop. The possibilities truly have no end. My shoes hug tightly to my skin, promising safety and comfort for whichever journey I choose. The wind blows at my back, compelling me onward. The stars stand straight, guiding and lighting all paths. I fear the possibilities; being handed what I want, and turning away.
But at dawn, will I want the same? Nite compelling me onwards… A song sung only to me. I have her, who I cannot leave behind. I would journey with her. If my mind could be reality, and reality my mind, I would close this gate behind me… rather than securing this lock to my own cage.
Free feelings for everyone. Staring in a screen, dark, it’s not my heart that wishes, but my mind. That superficial aspect of me that I always take too seriously. Simplicity is the root of joy, the route of peace. Dark caramalization holds little answers other than those that allow you to lower your inhibitions. To what extent do those inhibitions exist? There are far more pressing problems than what we are thinking if your entire being changes so rapidly. Watching these fingers type, what am I to do when they don’t seem to be my own? Is my own mind so clouded that I fail to concentrate daily? If we are all faced with impossibilities, do we relate how we handle them to one another so that we may fulfill a more noble purpose?