asixminuteegg

they say the perfect poached egg can be acheived in six minutes. or is it a hard boiled egg?

eggs are primal people. we're all just a bunch of walking eggs. if you eat an egg, then you are a little bit of a cannibal.

several weeks ago, we ate dinner with strangers. i wish strangers were better friends because it was the most fun.

rastalove.

and she didn't know how
to tell him
she was in love with a rastaman...

i don't belong in this time or space. there is something really primal about losing all of your inhibitions and acting on pure impulse and unaltered instinct. the early cavemen did not have the elixirs that we have today but i would bet they were burning all sorts of herb, tryna change their perceptions, perspectives, and ideas. i can respect that.

i have so many dreams for this world.
the elders in this society get in the way. a realist and an idealist and a pessimist all at once, i am certain that the older i get, the less we understand each other. i remember being 3 and thinking they were divine.

they have forgotten that we are one blood. one love. one world. one life. they are too busy with the modern way. resumes. people on paper. two dimensional paper people and not the physical people who sleep and touch and look into you. sometimes i wonder where i even came from.

in certain instances, i feel completely at peace. the last time this happened i was looking into my magic smoke mirror and imagining the olive trees and the sun. [salutations]. it mostly happens after dark. if i'm lucky it happens during standing bow pose.

i like my new bangs. i did however break every rule that the game ever taught me in the process of getting them and i just couldn't help it. now, i will pay for it, literally.

i have a swollen ankle and the other day i wished i could melt into the earth.

my dear readers, you have made it this far and you probably still want to know about rastalove.

so, if it's rastalove you seek, i weaseled a secret out of a healing woman once... in this story, we are at terminal 2 [o'hare airport], sitting nearby a macdo. it's a simple rule. but almost 100% of humans break it tout le temps. snap. crackle. pop. broken. are you ready?

she said, "even pretty lady like you need help findin' true rastalove. the trick is simple. never introduce yourself by any of your given names. rastaman is a mysteryman." okay lady. apparently, this includes, first, middle, last, and catholic names, and chinese names, and and and.

if you must know why (i needed to know why), it has to do with wavelengths. you see, the rastaman exists primarily in, say, A, travels to B in a high, C during an ideal meal, and D is how he makes love.

names and formalities, titles and resumes exist in a different spectrum. a spectrum of numbers. official and ordered. 1, 2, 42, 49282, 56, 89, 000. long story short, no wavelength overlap - no connection. no connection - no love. no love. no love. if you insist on using your 'real' name, the only place you may connect is where 0 meets O. (the universe too is faulty sometimes and miscateogrizes wavelengths, thereby resulting in baseless rastalove syndrome). but i don't recommend this. hunting for rastalove in a margin of error is inefficient people!

several weeks ago, i met a young man by the name of firecracker. they call me eel i said. he ate a lot of cookies and talked about the bulls. he was a regular dude, but he wasn't a rastaman. onward.

my golden year has kicked off to a glorious start.
happy birthday to me.

on revolution!

"anyone can start a revolution. obedience is hard."

eeeenteresting.

tomorrow i say goodbye to 23. 24 is the year of the golden eel. i've been thinking about metamorphosis. can i be an eel for the rest of my life. what do eels turn into? this year will be about finding an answer.

primed

i think we could solve a lot of problems if everyone were primal. we'd also create a whole host of new problems. like what to do about cheesecake and similarly, the internet. only a referendum could solve this problem. the people would vote, a primal thing.

the vote would only pertain to the internet. we would just turn the leftover cheesecake into spa treatments and fertilizer. i anticipate the people would be pretty hesitant to abandon what has stretched their once unguaranteed 15 minutes to a definite 18.5 for all. the reset button is not immediately appealing because people mistakenly mistake all this hoo-ha for progress. (going back is, for them, digressing. imagine progressing by reverting! they laugh at the thought).

addiction is what's happening here. addiction and the possibility of 19. 19 basically irrelevant minutes of fame. the problem my friends, is that this is just like the case of refined carbs. you know how that story ends? let me remind you.

carbs make you "full" and in a very short while hungry again. and you know this whole "feeling full" thing? that's not a very primal thing. we never used to feel full because the food we ate did not make us feel anything. it was a sort of invisible fuel. it did not get in the way. now, we opt to feel from our food, probably at the expense of other feelings we could be having. i mean, it's true. you can't go around saying, "i'm so full, i'm really sad." or "i'm so full and really in love." full takes over. imagine if we never felt full or hungry. there'd be so much fucking space and time for other things, more useful things. such is a primal life.

one i know, we call him "he." is never satiated. he is a little bloated and over salted and so not in touch with his earth. he is always eating. hungry. "i'm starving" says he and i am bored out of my mind listening. he prepares a bowl of cheerios. innocent. his mother's spaghetti. love. his bowels are not regular. every god damn slice of bread does this to he. even the whole grain. especially the whole grain.

while we're on the topic: what a fucking liar she is, the whole grain loaf. she's like the stripper who says, "no really - it's a respectful gig." lies lies. incidentally, the stripper's only potential argument is a primal one. it's the oldest trade there is; blah blah. but respectful - no. let's not pretend we are what we are not. that wouldn't be very primal of us. wheat bread is still bread. i don't care if you can read, stripper. whisper: you're still a streeeper.

so my advice to you people is to stay away from both the lady of the night and the sugary molecules. they are bad for your health and we all know, if you don't have health in this world, what do you have?

if you are in the business of thinking on this rained sunday then think about this: which of these is more primal: the blues or country. think hard.