Welcome & Thank You!
Welcome to Bartleby Willard’s Pure Love Soap!
Thank you for stopping by.
We work day and night to bring you only the highest quality soap and the Purest Love.
But we always have a few minutes for our ancient friends — like you, dear Consumer! Since time immortal, the Light has shone through everything, binding us all together into a deep, abiding, and frankly inextricable family of sentience — of watchers in the dark, watchers through for in and by the Light. So yeah, we’re ancient eternal friends. Can’t be helped!
Contents & Usage Instructions!
What we have here is a fragrant, smooth, refreshing mix of lye, fat, Goodness and Truth; hand/heart/mind/soul-crafted in our infinite expanse of daydreaming mines, fields, forests, factories, and sunshine-through-the-pines high-valley strolls.
To use, simply dampen with clean water, lather onto hands, underarms, or other areas that have succumbed to dirt and/or odor. Rinse. And voila!
To use, simply pull back your shoulders, chest out, turn yourself inside out along the center line running from your crown to your tail, letting the Light flood in and out, overrunning everything. Breathe slow in and out, letting the Light explode through you and everything and everyone. And voila!
The soap fades, the Love abides.
The soap is physical. The Love is metaphysical. The soap is all well and good. The Love is the Light of True Goodness that chooses everyone forever and always. The soap’s fine. The Love is Pure Love — the eternal spiritual Good that all earthly loves partake of to the degree they truly love. The soap is another one of these mundane illusions. The Love is the one thing that is actually Real — the Reality that creates, sustains, lovelifts, heals/restores/savaltionates, and cherishes all creation/illusion.
The soap we sell you, the Love we give you.
The fictional but self-actualized and -instantiated Bartleby Willard — that lonely shaking whimpering would-be love song and/or dog under the bed during a thunderlightning storm, that stumbling pigeon tripping over its own broken wing while foolish little kids toss pebbles at its face where blood drips already out one terrified eye, that stormgray heartbreak settling over the cornfields the sunny asphalt highway the concrete trucker stop with an old-fashioned silver-trailer diner in the center where a thin middle-aged woman in a stiff polyester pink skirt-uniform smiles her long horsey yellow smoked-over-teeth grin and pours you the gentlest kindest most believably mediocre cup of coffee you’ve ever had — wandered one day some days ago (like 30,000 from one count; 100,000,000 from another; an infinite infinite from another) into the Wandering Albatross Press Building and declared himself a live-in writer.
No one minded enough to send him a cease and desist memo. In fact, he fit right in and was at home.
And so he set to work at a little wooden table next to a dusty shaft of light in a brick nook in the brick and mortar Wandering Albatross Press Building. Immediately he declared his project: Fabricate Pure Love in fictional factories — where the laws of Daydream hold sway and Pure Love is as buildable as anything else –, and then push, prod, pull, and cajole the Pure Love into the real world and sell It at a generous but still profitable price.
Yes, Bartleby Willard came to play ball — he came to finally fulfill capitalism’s long overdue promise of creating things worth possessing, even if it means giving that actually-worthwhile product away and laughing off everything but the patter of rain on the window pane, the splash of light-spraying salt-bleeding sea against a seawall of square chunked pink gray and white granite, the forward-stumbling thumpity-thump of little bare feet on the sunwarmed garden trail.
I don’t know but the fictions shifted around him and now Bartleby works in the Skullvalley After Whistletown Building for Skullvalley After Whistletown Booksellers. But nothing much has changed. The same essential daydreams swirl round. He still has two eternal bosses, a couple close associates, and an undefined number of other colleagues.
More on this at A Readable Reader.
For now, know that Bartleby has diversified his jokes and now has his long transparent fingers in bubbling soap cauldron’s in cavernous dragon lairs and wide wind-blown fairy fields throughout innumerable worlds, and even a couple on some moons.
Guarantee / Disclaimer !
We at B. Willard’s Pure Love Soap do hereby heartily and thoroughly guarantee that you get something out of this product and its surrounding song and dance, Or You’re Money Back! [Just email us at Editor@PureLoveShop.com and we’ll figure something out.]
We at B. Willard’s Pure Love Soap do hereby lawyerly point out that Pure Love is all there really is, was, or will be, and so our soap is — insofar as it is at all — 100% Pure Love.
What do you think?
Author: Bartleby Willard
Editor: Amble Whistletown
Copyright: Andy Watson