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The inanity of the English language. And it's inability to describe, and hold within it, a breadth and spectrum of philosophy and emotion. Or maybe not.

Love. Obsession, even. Perspective. And the colour blue. 

That is Love Loves to Love Love and Blue.

This cider takes its name from a phrase in James Joyce's Ulysses, a book by Maggie Nelson—Bluets—and Goethe's study in the philosophy of perspective—A Theory of Colours.


What is love? And what of it? It's a noun, it's a verb, and then a noun again, and then a verb again? Love begets feelings of love—like attracts like—it's elective affinities. We all know that. We've all been that. For better or for worse? To be used or to be inspired? Is it just this? Can it exist without the impetus? Will it form without this affinity? Your love is different from my love. And my love is different from somebody else's love. Which is different than another's. Who’s love is love? 


You love your table, your dog, your children, and a croissant. A colour.


How could all of that be contained within one word. A voluntary delusion? A reduction of language? How can one love a colour? What is colour?


What is blue?


When it first came out, Goethe's Theory of Colours was presented as an opposing theory to Newton's Theory of Wavelengths; that Goethe was disputing the literal—and by this I mean physical—existence of the colour spectrum. Which it wasn't. And it's not. Rather, Goethe is attempting to explore and put to theory a spectrum of the perceptions of colour. The wavelengths of colour are real, literal, physical—they are of the world—but in addition to a spectrum of colour and light, there is a spectrum of perspective and processing of that colour and light. And a spectrum of emotion.


To Goethe, blue, in it’s highest purity, is a kind of contradiction between excitement and repose. A stimulating negation.


That is Love Loves to Love Love and Blue.

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