For the first time in many weeks today I ate fast food. I was driving around with a growling stomach and stopped at the house of Thomas for a spicy chicken sandwich. It cost in dollars twice what I normally spend on lunch while gainfully employed yet sated only half of my hunger. And instead of recharging my batteries and girding my loins for the tasks at hand this food, this fuel, awoke in me a deep and simmering anger. How I fumed and fussed, loathing and spiteful, as the lukewarm meal churned through my guts – so much so that to vent my seething fury I beat up with a broom an innocent office chair, with each strike freeing from it clouds of dust. After the venting I felt so much better than before that I was able to reflect upon my condition and trace my discontentment back to its source – my bowels. Since taking up a virtuous path and starting to heal myself body and soul through a daily yoga practice I have been blessed with an increased awareness of myself inside and out, which allowed me to see with my inner eye the food being wrung through my intestines, and it contained twisted and dark energies that fascinated and scared me such that I will not soon eat fast food again. In contrast, my evening meal – a half cup of organic corn grits with unsalted butter preceded by a half cup of organic white and brown rice cooked with organic carrot, beet, and paprika topped with organic soy sauce – is nourishing and supporting me as it worms its way through my entrails. As seems often to be the case these days I am relearning a lesson so often repeated that it has lost its color but not its bite: I am what I eat, and fast food turns me into a shitty, angry, spiteful person. Steer clear, chanticleer. Aho.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥
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