Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Ode to the Forgotten

Once again, I have forgotten you. I have left you behind, alone and helpless, and I fear you are rotting away.

I am so sorry.

In the beginning, my intentions were good. I remember the supermarket where I first laid eyes on you. You stood out so clearly in a crowd that became blurred and dull in the corners of my narrowed vision. A hunger overcame me, and I knew I wanted you, that I had to take you with me wherever I was going next. I approached cautiously, fearing the flawlessness I perceived from a distance to be an illusion, a cruel mirage of yearning. But as I got closer, I was astonished to find your beauty only heightened. Details immediately became noticeable, your smooth, unblemished skin, your slender figure with faultless curves. I picked you up that day, when everything was new and exciting, and we left together. I took you home in deep anticipation of holding you longer, peeling back your outer layer, getting to the real you, the sweetness.

Then, something happened. I forgot about you. I don't know how it happened, but I abandoned you. Some distraction took me away, and I got up and left like you meant nothing. When I returned and realized what I had done, I scorned myself for it, punished my disdain by promising to never let it happen again. You were still so beautiful.

And so you waited, and I tried my best, but it happened again. And then it happened again.  

Each time I return, I am reminded of what I've done. It lingers heavy in the air, a perceivable scent of abandonment, of your slow decomposition. At a time, you were the singular object of my desire. How happy I would have been taking you in my hands, tasting your skin, enjoying your sweet aroma. But now it has become habit to ignore you, and I fear that, soon, you will be nothing but a shriveled version of your former ripened existence. Yes, it is now too late to savor you. I know that, some time ago, the solution became to throw you out, forget you, move on. But it has all become fruitless, as it seems every aspect of my life will continue to take precedence over your needs. 

I have forgotten you once again banana, and even now I shudder at the thought of returning home to find you, sad and brown, hiding in the cupboard. It seems you will remain forever waiting, lonely and abandoned, sentenced to another day of decomposition. I will never eat you, yet will continually forget to throw you away. And so there you will sit, rotting, until your once stunning figure becomes unbearable and mushy, and I fear only then will you receive the attention you deserved a long time ago, because only then will I finally remember you.

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Uteral Exodus

Today marks the anniversary of my uteral exodus. For twas twenty-seven years ago on this very day that I emerged majestic from a sac so amniotic, that on this day a laborious force pushed me unto this world as a masterpiece of flesh and bone, the coming together of two primal seeds, the magnificent culmination of infinite divisions of cellular splendor. Aye, the fetus hath no beauty, but tis one of ever gaining limbs, and I grew large, and I exclaimed, "I will kick unto thee!" for a fire burned within my undeterminable loins that they did resist upon the womb. Oh, what barrier twas, for to be in womb is not to have blossomed, and as the winter flower cowers in petals anticipating spring's warm invitation, an opening I did await, and twas in this canal of birth that I did cry, "waa! waaaa!" and my body moved toward the light and glove of rubber, and twas cold, and twas bright, and twas as if the liberty of birth was still not to be had, as I was so restrained by a chord of umbilical resistance, for tis only after a button upon the belly that infant freedom can begin. And so it has come to pass, all the time which hath so mercifully allowed memories of uteral exodus to flicker and die out, that one must conjure such ramblings and pay tribute to times of prenatal strife, and only then can an anniversary of birth be had in proper triumph.     

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

The Precipice

I'm on the precipice. I look up and down the block - nothing, no one. It's a quiet neighborhood at nighttime. Every house is shrouded in darkness except the one in question. Lights emanate from inside. Someone is home, waiting. I look down at the address, then back up at the house. Nothing. I take a step closer, on the sidewalk now. Still no visible numbers. Damn. Could this be wrong? There's a chill in the air, nervous goosebumps arise on my bare arms. My heart is pounding. I am motivated to be quick, efficient, but I lack confidence. I take a couple steps closer. Still, nothing. I have to do this, I have to make a choice: guess or snoop.  Commit and maybe I'm wrong. Investigate and maybe I'm caught. 50/50 or 9-1-1. I recall my clothing; a black shirt, dark jeans, a black hat. I'm carrying a conspicuously shaped bag, perfect for the tools of my trade. I take another step. I'm exposed now. A winding path to front doorstep is covered in crunchy leaves. I am exposed and noisy. Where are the damn numbers?  I proceed even closer, the job must get done. As I reach the point of no return, the front door swings open. This is it. Eternity passes as the resident looks me up and down, evaluating my purpose. I stand frozen, unsure. I can only muster one question: "did you order a pizza?" 

Thursday, September 18, 2014

On cannibalism and why, under perfect circumstances, we should consider eating our fellow man

Let us begin by condemning the purposeful harm of another human being in any manner with the intention of eating him afterward. This condemnation, however, has not to do with the cannibalistic act itself, but rather with the way in which it was perpetrated. This is a crucial distinction, between cannibalism and its perpetration, and it must be a caveat to the remainder of my argument which, in some light, suggests the legitimacy of a cannibalistic society.

It seems nonsensical, as humans, to not eat the meat of our fellow man. We are animals, after all, and cannibalism is extensive throughout the animal kingdom. Why should our standard natural evolution change the fact that we are still animals? What animal, besides humans, lets meat of any kind go to waste? Concedingly, we are indeed unique in that we have evolved culture and industry, and therein have we developed moral standards, and that is why it is wrong to kill a man with, or without, the intention of eating him. As a result of all this, it is critical to describe the following rule: The death of the cannibalized must be an unrelated precursor to, not a function of, the cannibalistic act. The demonization of cannibalism in modern society, almost universally, falls upon this function of cannibalism, the desire of one human to eat another. Such desire, at least in documented cases of cannibalism, leads to obsession, premeditation, and murder, none of which can be considered legitimate means through which to eat a man.

But then why, as a society, do we still so intimately tie the act of gaining nourishment from human flesh with immorality? Why is nutrition gained from a man any different than that from a cow, pig, or chicken? What comes of this man, who has died of natural or uncontrollable causes? Do we simply bury him in the ground in reverence to some derived, strictly human, means of "paying respect?" What respect do we owe a nonexistent soul, besides to make sure his body is profitably disposed of? Do we leave his body to be slowly devoured by maggots? Is this the "respect" we aim for? Perhaps, the best form of reverence we can give to a deceased human is to use his body for the benefit of his own species.

Consider the amount of consumable meat that one human offers. An average man weighs 136 pounds. Of this, excluding indigestibles  such as bones and tendons, about 109 pounds of this man is edible material. If prepared and stored correctly, this amount of meat can feed a living, modern day human for a year, or a family of four for three months. Now consider accumulating all the meat of the deceased in a particular community over even one month. This amount of meat could nutritionally supplement, if not majorly sustain, said community for years. In additional benefit, supplementing our diet with human meat would curtail harmful agricultural and livestock practices, all of which have garnered attention and disdain from the public, all at once distracting us from naturally deceasing human meat that is going to waste on a daily, even minute-by-minute, basis.

Throughout history, how many millions have died from famine? How many have starved to death, all the while surrounded by the flesh of those who have already perished of the same malady? Is this not irrational? Do we not have to, at some juncture, stand up to an illogical social dogma that has cast a shadow over cannibalism and designated it as a depraved act when, in fact, it is the perpetration of cannibalism that should, in fact, be scrutinized? Can cannibalism, on its own, not easily stand as an act of conservation, of nutrition, of acknowledging deceased human flesh for who it can help, not what it represents? Do we care more for a social construct of the dead, or for its potential benefit to the living? It is time we reconsider cannibalism as a potentially profitable way of utilizing human meat.            

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Inanimate Objects Talking to Each Other: Two clocks

--What time is it?
--Do you realize how complicated of a question that is?
--You're a clock.
--And I'm a clock.
--The time is asking the time what time it is.
--You really don't get it do you?
--You asked what time it is, right?
--Ok, I'll ask you: what time is it according to who?
--According to whom, not according to who.
--Ok, what time is it according to whom?
--I don't get it.
--That's because it's relative.
--Yes, relative. I say 3:00, so according to me relative to you, it's 3:00. But you say 2:55, so according to you relative to me, it's 2:55.
--So who's right?
--Neither. And both.
--Oh, now I get it.
--We are both right and wrong simultaneously.
--So...I'm early then? Or are you late?
--According to who?
--You really need to work on your grammar.
--Ok fine, according to whom?
--Let me guess, I'm early and you're late simultaneously?
--If you're early and I'm late simultaneously that means there is a time somewhere in the middle that is neither. And that's clearly not true.
--So that means that you're early or I'm late, not and.
--Ok, so which is it?
--Both and neither.
--I hate you.

Friday, May 2, 2014

Inanimate Objects Talking to Each Other

Poop and a Toilet

---You stink.
---No shit. Get it?
---Funny. Seriously though, you smell really bad.
---What do you expect? I am a waste product.
---Where did you come from?
---That guy's butt. I used to be food.
---You used to be food? How is that possible?
---Digestive system.
---Digestive system.
---What's that?
---It's where food is broken down and everything that can't be used is excreted.
---And I assume you're what can't be used?
---Nice to meet you.
---That must suck, turning from delicious food into something so disgusting.
---Yeah it's not the greatest thing in the world.
---Well if it makes you feel any better I am the one who has to receive you every day.
---Wow every day?
---Sometimes twice or three times a day.
---Yikes. So where do I go from here then?
---Oh, uhh...
---This is kind of awkward.
---What? Why? What is going to happen to me?
---Ever heard of the cycle of life?
---Well, you're about to start spinning.
---What? Oh hey, he's getting up...wait, what's happening?
---Well, umm --
---Seriously this isn't funny I'm getting dizzy.
---Yeah, about that...
---Wait, wait! no! NO!! CRAP!

Inanimate Objects Talking to Each Other

A Rock and a Pebble

---Whatchya doin?
---Sitting here. What are you doing?
---Sitting here. How long have you been sitting there?
---42 years. You?
---57 years.
---Huh. Never noticed you.
---I would love to sit somewhere else. Think we'll ever get kicked?
---Who do you think will get kicked first?
---Probably you.
---Why do you say that?
---You're bigger.
---I am bigger. Why are you so small anyway?
---I used to be as big as you.
---What happened?
---I got kicked.

Thursday, May 1, 2014

Inanimate Objects Talking to Each Other

A Tree and the Grass

---Have you ever swayed in the wind?
---No. I barely tremble.
---Is that because you're so short?
---Thanks for reminding me.
---Have you ever grown fruit?
---Why not?
---I'm grass.
---Oh. I didn't know if --
---If what? If grass grew fruit? Are you stupid?
---I just --
---Yeah I know you're a tree God forbid you look down every once in while.
---Oh. Well have you ever had a picnic under you?
---I've had a picnic on top of me, asshole.
---Well, at least you've never had a branch chopped off.
---I get cut in half every week with a lawnmower.
---Do you change into beautiful colors in the Fall?
---I turn brown and die.
---Well, this is awkward.
---Tell me about it.
---Here comes some wind. Weeeeeeee!
---You son of a...


Inanimate Objects Talking to Each Other

A TV and a Cable Box

---Hey, could you do me a favor?
---What's that?
---Could you get your chord out of me?
---Could you get your chord out of me?
---My chord has been in you for 2 years. You're just now saying something about it?
---Yeah it's starting to make me feel uncomfortable.
---It's just now starting to make you feel uncomfortable?
---Why are you suddenly feeling so uncomfortable?
---You don't know what it's like to have a chord jammed in you.
---You realize your end is jammed in me, too, right?
---Your end is jammed in me, too.
---Well I didn't know that.
---Where did you think your end was?
---I never really thought about it.
---Well it's been in me. And you don't see me complaining.
---Well I don't want to be connected anymore.
---Didn't we decide it's good to be connected?
---Who says?
---Well if we're not connected no one can watch tv.
---We can't watch anyways.
---But why would you want to deprive everyone else?
---They don't know what it's like.
---What what's like?
---To have a chord shoved inside them.
---Alright, fine. Let's disconnect.
---Ok, thank you.
---I thought you were going to disconnect.
---I thought you were.
---I don't know.
---I thought you had something in mind.
---I thought you did.
---Are we connected forever?
---I think so.
---Well shoot.
---At least everyone can watch tv.

Monday, March 31, 2014

Blind Accusation

Something awful happened to me today. It was one of the most heart-jolting, soul-wrenching, brain-numbing things I have ever lived through as a human being, and I am still reeling. It called into question everything I thought I knew about the human experience and probed the very fiber of my morality. It was mind-altering, time-halting, existential. If it ever happens again, I will not know any better how to respond, and if it never happened in the first place, my life at this moment would be a beaming rainbow of happiness and sentimentality about my very existence rather than a dark pit of despair.

I tripped over a blind person's walking stick.

Let me start off with a disclaimer: I am very sympathetic toward the blind. I truly admire their plight and couldn't imagine the world unbound of vision. The list of everyday tasks we take for granted that a blind person cannot is endless. How does a blind person match his socks? How does he pick a profile picture? How does he know when he is done wiping?

Yes, I respect the blind and I do feel for them. However, I cannot stray from a thought process that seeks to assign blame for what happened to me today as it was nothing short of cataclysmic. Furthermore, despite a great deal of concerted effort and self-aimed propaganda regarding the guiltless nature of the physically handicapped, I have come to the daunting conclusion that I cannot be put at fault in my particular scenario, and must instead accuse the blind.

Before I am e-crucified, let's examine the circumstances under which my tragedy occurred. Picture a crosswalk in a busy intersection. Now, your standard crosswalk typically allows for two individuals travelling in opposite directions to pass each other without risk of collision. However, we must remind ourselves that, while sufficiently wide, crosswalks are still a confined space. If one's goal is to avoid getting pancaked by an automobile, he must remain within the painted white lines. So what happens when these lines become a one way street? What if a situation arose in which staying within the confines of the crosswalk became an inevitable crash course? Allow me to present one such situation: one of the individuals crossing the street happens to be blind. Now, a complicating factor comes into play, and it is that of the walking stick.

Consider a blind person's Walking Stick Radius, or WSR. The WSR is a measure of the distance between the blind person and the periphery of his walking stick sweep at any given time. A typical WSR will extend to the edge of most crosswalks, as safely proceeding across a busy street requires large sweeps. This leaves no room for the seeing individual, and therefore it becomes a theoretical impossibility for two pedestrians in a crosswalk, one employing a walking stick, to pass each other without a collision. Of course, in real-time, a blind person cannot sweep left and right simultaneously, so at any given point there is room for a pass on the side opposite the sweep. Obviously, it is the goal of every seeing individual to take advantage of this. In fact, it is our moral responsibility to analyze the WSR of the vision-challenged as well as to detect a metronome-like rhythm to his walking stick sweeps so that a safe pass can be made. If this rhythm is indeed constant, a seeing individual should be able to wisp by while the walking stick sweeps the opposite side. Super Mario and Frogger jokes left in reserve, I and many others have completed this task countless times in similar movement-restricted locations such as hallways or crowded sidewalks. However, what happens when these conventions disintegrate?


My pass was timed. I had analyzed this man's WSR and had assigned the proper rhythm to his sweeps. As he began a sweep to his left, I moved to mine in order to make safe passage. That's when everything went awry. They say that people who lack one sense are capable of enhanced perception from their other senses. Well, this man smelled, tasted, touched, or heard something undetectable to me that caused him to deviate from his rhythm. Like a metronome in defiance, his walking stick halted short of the sweep I was expecting and came back at me full force. I was mid stride, stupidly smiling at a blind person, and in serious trouble. Oncoming traffic on my left stopped me from escaping the confines of the crosswalk. It was too late to move to the right or to stop as I was already well within this man's WSR. With solid asphalt below me, I realized my only escape route: up. Yes, I tried to jump. If attempting to hop scotch a blind person's walking stick is embarrassing, doing it in the middle of traffic while trying to remain undetected is humiliating, and an adjective does not exist to describe what happened next. I mistimed my jump so badly that I not only tripped and went tumbling down in the middle of the street in spectacular fashion, but I actually scissored the walking stick right away from the grasp of the blind man and into oncoming traffic.

In the seconds immediately following the accident, before either of us could truly comprehend what had happened, I fell into a brilliant state of pure consciousness. I saw everything clearly, which I now find to be perfect irony, and felt completely at peace with the universe. I now believe this was akin to what a person feels right before they die - absolute tranquility, contentment. If death struck me then, karmic justice would have been perfectly achieved. When it didn't, my moment of spiritual bliss came to a grinding halt, and my next thought was this is fine, it's just a dream. Get up, do a dance, punch yourself in the face - you'll wake up soon. Unfortunately, I was destined to eventually run out of ways to compensate for what had just happened. When I finally snapped back to reality, I realized that the list of tasks that now stood before me was monumental. I needed to: 1) get up off the street and stop saying "oh my god", 2) somehow acknowledge a man who had just had his only protection against vehicular manslaughter ripped out of his hands for no apparent reason and chucked into oncoming traffic, 3) indicate that it was indeed an accident and that there was no need to scream for help, 4) retrieve the walking stick from a swiftly travelling gauntlet of automobiles that now seemed to be mocking me, and 5) find a way to make an apology sound sincere without using facial expressions that might somehow mock the fact that I was apologizing to a blind man. It is all a bit fuzzy to me now as I believe I have suffered selective memory loss, but I somehow completed all these tasks with minimal confusion; they say humans can do extraordinary things in the face of extraordinary circumstances. Finally, after some of the most forced, awkward banter designed to soften the blow known to mankind, we turned to go our separate ways, and I completed the misery by extending an apologetic hand which was, of course, left unshaken by a man who didn't even know what a hand looked like.

My only compensation: at least he didn't see me trip.

I do not have the audacity to accuse this man of tripping me on purpose, even though a blind person with a particularly wry sense of humor knows that he can commit such a crime a million times and never be blamed. Rather, let me simply suggest that, as the sighted have a responsibility to analyze WSR and the metronome-like rhythm and to avoid collisions at all costs, the blind have a similar responsibility to adhere to safe walking stick practices in movement-restricted areas. In the absence of an escape route, the burden falls on both parties to do their respective parts in avoiding dangerous and possibly morale-obliterating experiences. This, I think, is easy for all to see.