Bartleby Willard’s Pure Love Soap!
The soap fades away; the Love abides.

Our soap is forged in giant, clacking factory of brick, steel, cement, tar, hope, fear, shame, pride, tenderness, violent flinches, gentle lullabies and broken dreams.

Through our patented process, the raw materials — tidy, fragrant, and pleasantly plump pre-soap pulp; and all the thoughts, senses and passions of all the creatures in all the worlds — are carefully refined and interwoven into chunks of soap that shine forth with refreshing physical properties and a Love that only gives, that never takes, that only ever and forever accepts, cares for, lovelifts, heals/restores/remakes and cherishes everyone.

Is our product true?
Are our adverts true?
Is our Love True?
We ask ourselves — in our sweaty cavernous Love Brewing Stations, with cauldron after cauldron of bubbling lye, fat, sorrow, joy, happy to sad aches, sharp to vague longings, wishes freshly whelped to well-worn — !
We ask ourselves — while tilling our love fields and baling our strands of tangled love — what we’re really about, if we mean what say, if we’ve got what we promise.

Bartleby Willard’s Pure Love Soap!
The soap fades away; the Love abides.

If we are fools, madmen, souls out of step, rhythms that miss,
we apologize to our consumers.
We’d wanted to give you something actually worth consuming!
But maybe it just can’t be done.
Maybe a consumer can’t be any more joyfully overflowing than anyone else.
Maybe it’s all been a kind of sham, this whole venture.

If, in that case, you could perhaps,
Just let it go by,
and forgive us, the flow of history, the stories that hang on math like leathered meat on a molding bone, the bodies in the basements, skeletons in the attics, experts that weren’t really, wisdoms that didn’t quite, kindnesses that pretended more than they helped.

Please
we didn’t mean no harm.

or at least
we didn’t mean to mean to harm

Author: B Willard
Editor: A Whistletown
Copyright: AM Watson