Someone who buys flowers, be it for themselves, the hurt girlfriend, the dead grandmother or the bloody newborn, is a nice person. A good person. He brings colour and joy to others, he brings summer into winter. Put a bottle of wine on the side, and you are the closest you can get to being an angel.
But the business side of the Flower is blossoming, and flowers are a huge fucking business. The flower auction in The Netherlands is organized daily in the fourth largest building in the world. A vast amount of all of the world's commercial flowers travel through it. Sweaty, stressed wholesalers bid on the most innocent and delicate individuals, which, with their divine buds still closed, are brought onto the stage for examination and flown around the world to your local florist.
These symbols of freedom, then sold as joy and goodness, have built themselves an intelligent shield against any accusations of being a commodity like anything else – a waste of money and the environment. In their soft petals and seductive scent lives a perfect veil of evil.
(Just a thought. We are not willing to give up our regular rose dose either.)
But the business side of the Flower is blossoming, and flowers are a huge fucking business. The flower auction in The Netherlands is organized daily in the fourth largest building in the world. A vast amount of all of the world's commercial flowers travel through it. Sweaty, stressed wholesalers bid on the most innocent and delicate individuals, which, with their divine buds still closed, are brought onto the stage for examination and flown around the world to your local florist.
These symbols of freedom, then sold as joy and goodness, have built themselves an intelligent shield against any accusations of being a commodity like anything else – a waste of money and the environment. In their soft petals and seductive scent lives a perfect veil of evil.
(Just a thought. We are not willing to give up our regular rose dose either.)
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