I place the rotisserie chicken onto the cutting board and grab one wing firmly, then with a practiced hand, twist and dislocate the wing from its shoulder. I pause for a moment to look at the joints in my own fingers, then continue to dismember the rest of the chicken with my bare hands.
Food is fucking weird
Don’t you go aristotling on me
Deep Thoughts by Werner Herzog.
I read that as an indictment of poetry above anything else.
Literally Alan Wake type writing.
mom knows what it would feel like for the knife to go through her own leg?
I’m pretty weirded out by everyone in this thread saying Mom is high as fuck or having a mental break because this feels like a pretty normal series of thoughts to me, and not like something that would be distressing or brought on by distress.
Also, what’s wrong with being high as fuck?
You’re just casually slogging through dissociative existentialism on a regular basis?
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Who said anything about a regular basis?
You guys are getting through?
If you’re going through hell…
Keep going. Why would you stop in hell?
It was for me too. That’s why I opt for the tofu now.
A few years ago, I saw some online discussion where multiple folks were saying you can’t write a beautiful poem about spiders, for whatever reason. At that point, I was deep into writing poems and I do think spiders are swell, so I actually took that as a little challenge to write such a poem. After half an hour, I had something I was happy with and just threw it into the thread.
And man, the reaction will forever sit with me. Around ten folks responded. Every single one with yet another variation of the same joke, that they wanted to know what I’m smoking.
Even when I disprove their thesis, that you can’t write such a poem, by literally just doing that, they still need to declare it impossible without the use of performance-enhancing drugs.I guess, I might have a special talent there, but it was just also particularly weird, because I’m practically clean-edge, as in the hardest drug I’ll occasionally have is coffein.
And yeah, that just left me with the same bewilderment as you. How different is my reality from theirs that they absolutely cannot imagine such thoughts occurring without drugs?No idea, if that and the dissociating are linked. It does probably help a lot with poetry, too, to look at the world for what it is, rather than navigating it on auto-pilot.
Post the spider poem
The shift in the unseen eyes as the thread takes hold, suffocating and spinning; a meal for me, an annoyance for you. In the corners you don’t check, a cornucopia of opportunity as yet another morsel is discarded, attracting them by the droves, your apathy to your own glutton as forgotten as the coconut you keep under your bed. (And, scene.)
I expected that response. 😅
Unfortunately, I didn’t save it, because it wasn’t amazing or anything. It’s in some random internet comment, and I have no idea how one would find it… 🫠
Well at least it’s out there, thanks :)
It does probably help a lot with poetry, too, to look at the world for what it is, rather than navigating it on auto-pilot.
I think you hit the nail on the head here. Very few people are capable of examining their loop for what it really is, let alone going off autopilot.
Some people just have a very narrow existence, I bet your spider poem was great.
This is exactly why I voted for Trump to dismantle the EPA and FDA.
If we can’t know anyway there’s no sense in wasting money on trying.
/s
Did it smell like pork?
I mean, has she tried her leg?
Sounds like mom just took a hit of some gooooood shit.
Mom is beginning to see through her cultural conditioning to things that the owner class meant to be invisible. Mom is made of meat and the flesh on her table was once an individual like her, maybe even a mom like her, and Mom let herself become complicit in a system that makes one victim the victim of another victim all for the enrichment of the cruel and hateful creatures with economic power.
This goes back way further than ownership. We’re talking millions of years. Dinosaurs feasting on dinosaurs. We’re a little speck of dust on a speck of dust in the blink of an eye to the vast, uncaring universe.
John Capitalism invented eating in 1901. Open your mind. Breathe.
We are the universe just as much as anything else. And this universe is likely teeming with life, at least this planet is. Therefore, the universe very much cares.
Fallacy of composition. A car’s tires are made of rubber, doesn’t mean the whole car is made of rubber. Caring is a thing individuals do, not the systems they belong to.
We’re all living in a capitalist society. Does that mean capitalism cares?
Fucking hell, man. I’m already depressed enough as it is.
Mom, did you find my shroom stash and how much did you take?
that lady is dissociating. get her some therapy.
Fuck that, get her elected
