Wednesday, September 17, 2008

A vegan, still on the hunt

Every now and then, one feels the urge to hunt and kill and consume.

I remember how much fun it used to be to buy a barbecued chicken, put it in my backpack and ride home on the motorcycle, looking at the people around me on the highway and thinking, "None of these people know the biker has a chicken in his backpack." People say bikers are defenseless, but if need be, a chicken can always be hurled.

I'd get this chicken home and a good-sized blap of white meat would be clawed into like a steamshovel with the right hand, chickenflesh embedded under the fingernails, deposited on a plate and eaten, warm, accompanied by a baked potato with butter and salt, after washing the grease from the hands, of course. Burp.

The substitute today is two ears of fresh, sweet corn, so sweet they need no butter or salt, and you devour them, the kernels exploding into your mouth, the juice flying, the skins of the kernels getting stuck between your teeth.

This beats broccoli, brown rice, lettuce, almond butter, raisins, soy milk. You have torn into something with an explosion of force, something you used to do to cooked animals.

Thou art the lion, jackal, eagle, grizzly bear, T-Rex---the difference being you're a beast eating food that grows and does not breathe, bleed or feel pain and fear.

Food's one of the great joys and banes of life, and veganism allows me to enjoy it more. Since I consume no sugar, refined flour and almost no salt, what lands on my tongue explodes, and the senses are heightened.

As one moves further on down life's highway, one needs to fight deadening---the dulling of everything. Dull and dead you will become, completely and for good one day, but let us strive to keep the ears, eyes, taste buds, body and mind as sharp as table saws until that day.

And one day you may be driving in a remote upstate road, and may pass a large cornfield, and may glimpse a wild-haired savage, barefoot and clad in a loincloth made of hemp, a spear in one hand and a half-dozen freshly-shucked ears of fresh corn in the other. Stay out of his way, mate.

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