Tag Archives: taste

Protons and Anti-Protons

I certainly cannot find a reason to dislike preservatives or additives. They make things taste better, and last longer. I don’t dislike them to the point of blaming milk and cookies for my impending death. I’ll gladly take my turkish Camel Filters over your American Spirits because if I’d any sense, I wouldn’t smoke. The filters themselves are a healthier step, and your delusions of a healthier cigarette is synonymous with a punchline.

Healthier eating habits seem propagandic, even to the point of fascism. The end result, a year more of life? In this world, does old age really seem all that advantageous? We’re always going to want a little more time, don’t get me wrong, but the speed in which we’re progressing our galactic demise is only ever-increasing. The chances of the fabled, “death by old-age” in contrast to “death by stupidity” aren’t even in the same ball-park. The chances I’ll die because of an imbecile seem more likely, and would probably prompt that imbecile to never repeat himself. Then again, imbeciles are imbeciles and their stupidity is like an earthquake. It cannot be predicted. Notions of longevity through eating habits seem futile. Look at vegans, they look more brittle than my decomposing grandmother, and without supplements, (which are unnatural on principle alone) they’d crumble.

What is your longevity worth if you’ve lived it with restrictions and fear?

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Filed under non-fiction rambling

women, hungry

Starving, I picked up the Pastrami Reuben sandwich. I, then, placed it back on the shelf because the Pastrami Reuben burrito wrap caught my eye. I looked at the contents, and placed that back on the shelf, and picked up a spinach and bacon salad in it’s stead. The Reubens had the same content, but under different skins. I was never partial to bacon, but made sure to eat bacon only in front of a Jewish person. They never got angry. Worse is, they never laughed,

I decided I wanted to cook instead. I grabbed a raw chicken from the meat section and various vegetables. I wanted to impress my room mates. Then I put the chicken back, because I was so sick of chicken. CHICKEN for three months. Then I looked for another meat that would compliment the vegetables in my hands. I looked at the lamb section. I decided to put the vegetables back. I picked up the Pastrami Reuben sandwich again. Then I put it back and walked over to the frozen foods section. The employees must’ve thought I looked insane in an over-sized maroon sweater with an E.E. Cummings book of poetry under my arm. I don’t like E.E. Cummings’ work. I looked for curry fried rice. Found it.

Rice reminded me of home, so I don’t eat much rice anymore. But, not today. I read the bag, “Four minutes to warm.” I put the bag back and looked at a chicken and mushroom Alfredo pasta. CHICKEN. They’re so easy to bully. I wanted to find a veal pasta. They don’t make those. I’ve never had veal. I picked up garlic & herbs pizza dough, next to the Pastrami Reuben sandwich, which I glanced at again. I’ll make a pizza and put whatever I want on it. Only seven dollars in my pockets. Two of which, in coins. My pockets had as much change as my mind. I’m losing my mind.

I danced back to the curry fried rice. I hadn’t even looked at the soups yet. This went on for nearly an hour.

I fed on the options and feasted on choices, and I left with nothing. Just my over-sized maroon sweater and a book of bad poetry.


Filed under non-fiction metaphor, poetry