The problem with the vessel is that a single drop always escapes — sliding down the outside after pouring. Earlier on I felt trapped by the realisation that my constant self-judging is only that: it has no transcendental significance or value, it is not a monolithic object that I cannot pass: it is just something I bring on myself, a habit I've got in to. I am writing this in order to try to deliver myself of myself: to escape the trap of my limitations by offering them to others to supersede. The poured-out volume always leaves a trace, sliding quietly off somewhere, staining the tray it rests on.