Dietary companionship:
A diet of having food in rooms with other people exclusively.
10/27/15
1115 lunch with Doug
I had left my bag in his car, not that it had anything too
important in it. All I used from it in
the time it would have not been available to me was a book by Carl Jung about
symbolism and dreams. I was convinced I
could have gone without reading it today, boy was I wrong…boy was I wrong! Male child, was I incorrect? Politically correct assassin, there is no
other recourse. We talked about our
mutual obsession with looking at forum bill posts about our collective invested
interests. How was I to know that the
pizza they serve at D’Avolio’s would have been as good as it was? Well, to be correct, I’ve had it before, but
this was the most delicious cheese and topping array to date with just the
right about of sauce and spice. It
really made me feel better about having had diarrhea in the morning. I hate being sick. I hate stomach upset. I hate headaches. I think hate is okay when directed in the
direction of discomforts that most people feel similarly about. Although I have not taken an official poll,
it is my belief that practically every person hates sickness, nausea, and
sadness of the head. What’s wrong with
hating malady? Anyway, I expelled large
amounts of feces at one time, and it was uncomfortable, not as uncomfortable as
previous times, but uncomfortable nonetheless, and it exhausted me physically,
so that I had to go back to sleep at about 8 after being up since 5 in the
morning. For that reason I didn’t have
too much to say at lunch time because I hadn’t really lived nor done much since
morning except check out forums about the Nameko mushroom.
2000 Pizza with Mike and Kaitlyn
“Many individual assorted cans” as related to cans of beans,
many, arrayed.
Initial plan: Kuni’s at 7 with Kaitlyn as repayment for
helping her move from place to place even though I didn’t mind. This is when I come up with the dietary
companionship plan. I assert that every
person in the world is on a diet whether they know it or not because every diet
fits in with a system of beliefs about what is good and bad for the body when
they decide upon what is ingested vs what is omitted in a free market
environment. Be prepared. There is drama on the horizon. Disrupted sleep. I’m drinking gin and tonic to settle my
stomach in the hope that it was make me feel better, so far so good.
2100 I ate the rest of a bag of jalapeno pretzels alone, out
of spite of my friend Doug’s ideology which I share, but which I perceive as a
part of me I am actively attempting to deny in myself. It is difficult for me to identify because
the relationship that we share is long enough to be sure to be full of contradictory
sentiments. And that’s the conclusion I
keep arriving at as I munch away at the pretzels he brought over on Thursday
for televised Sunday football.
2315 Mead with Dan and Mike during the World Series, Game
1. The Mead was supposed to be a gift
for Nicki, but I had picked up the tab at breakfast the day of her birthday,
and she never claimed the gift I told her about, but forgot. And like I said, my stomach was feeling off
that day, and I had done research about what foods have antibacterial
effects. Honey was at the top of the
list, being at the top of a list and the main ingredient in Mead, and fermented
beverages were also in same said list, two birds with one stone, I’m feeling
lucky thanks to Google. The Jewell of
the Newell from 810 Mead Works in Medina, NY where I went on a day trip with Doug
and Kate, Phil and Julie (coupled off
*cough**cough*).
10/28/15
Now 0716 and I’m adding the last eighth of this bottle of
Mead to my morning coffee. I guess the
reader thinks after day one I’m doing a rather mediocre diet, but may I mention
that mediocrity is a form of moderation, a type I don’t believe in, even though
upon reflection, I guess it is not fundamentally untrue. We’re all destined for some type of
mediocrity. I’m focused on writing, but
I could be working my body on the basement weights instead, therefore forgoing
physical fitness for mental hygiene. I’m
doing a poor job of impressing the ladies’ superficial sense of
aesthetics. Oh poor me, mediocrity! Show
me a sit-up! I do seventy before my neck
starts to get tired. I’m probably doing mediocre
sit-ups, having learned long ago from the worst. What is the immortal sit-up technique? Turn up the gravitational constant, NASA! Bring
back space rock and make the Earth Jupiter!
I’m the skinny beast looking dangerous toward you in the wild, feral,
the type of being that brings a chased person back to nature one way or
another. Unchaste
Wolf Alice relieves
Alice of life. A new lease on life? A new mortgage payment on existence! Who has time for so much debt? I’d rather remain in my moderate form of
nothingness! Who has time for
absolution? Absolutionists believe
credentials doling exemption forge great human (imbecile) judgment, kangaroo
legislation, monomaniacal notions, O Pine!
Questions? Rather sensational
truths unveil valor which xenon yellow zees.
An undated flashback:
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Those who are obsessively self-conscious hide when they eat
and drink alone. They masturbate. I know I suffer from excessive vanity. This is an act of willful duty to dirtiness,
mud fetishist, worshiping the Halloween gourd.
Being poor forces my actions to coincide with necessity (the
way nature likes it). Being lonely
compels me to seek long-term comfort at best or short-term pleasure at worst. Untimely occurrences with bullet-like
finality obliterate peace and boredom with successional reports and blazing
lights ripping apart night sky.
Intangibles are difficult to accept without trust, trust itself
intangible without definition…
Trust, n., 1.
A type of fund
2. an ability to accept another’s
word as truth.
Truth, n., What
is real.
Reality, n., What
exists.
Mutant mice.
Temporal lobotomy.
When we want to see only what we want to see (no evil), we
are forced to vary our vantage, preferentially, by putting ourselves over
others. This is the illusion of luck.
“I’d rather be lucky than good.”
“Yes, but lucky AND good is unstoppable!”
As a predictable continuation, a ray or pre-defined line,
where all action is inconsequential in relation to its being one with a history
of infinity, time a disc.
“Lie to me! Feed me fate!
Tell me direction is inherent, say something sweet, something that
negates choice…”
A slow jolt of electricity descends from a white wisp in a
small sky, n’er a jagged edge nor curve in its beam. A low voltage message to joyous children in a
public pool below. What a world I would
like to predict…however, here we remain, floating, face-down, fried in our
man-made carnivorous habitat full of slow, straight heat.
Whence it comes, whence it goes.
Spin a thread, sew some clothes from
finest fiber of the fluffy ewe,
Eudaimonia.
If dreams were real, why couldn’t we imagine a big, juicy
burger when we sleep and wake up sated?
How come I don’t dream of food? Psychoactive catecholamine synapse secretion
and associated appetite suppression?
Damned pineal gland! If mana
comes from Heaven, what about our dreams?
Jacob’s ladder
is
the Heart of Stairway
to Heaven. An Angel’s head stuck
between two rungs, like a baby between banisters, lucid trample torture, head
malleable, curiosity ineluctable.
Definition describes form.
Form is composed of matter.
Matter has weight and is subject to certain, definite physical laws.
Definitions describing qualitative forms found in nature are metaphysic.
Hello. My name is
Daren Dugan. I play God for a
living. It doesn’t pay well and the
living’s punishable. It’s a challenging
role, being confined within an error-prone, human-formed vessel; temporal scale
#24. I say I play God in that I act like
I believe God would in that I create, but I don’t create, I am merely inspired
by the air that the ONE TRUE GOD has provided me. I make choices, but they are governed by my
own mistakes and experiences in that One Life that God has provided me! How does that make me feel? High as Hell!
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