I Hate You, You Stupid Flower

I am full of love for the New Wave.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Eating the Caged Bird

Last night as I bemoaned the meaninglessness of existence over a succulent chicken burrito, I realized I cared not why the caged bird sang - if it tasted as good as chicken, I would rather just eat it.

Guilt racked my mind. How could I think such a thing? Is not all life precious? Did not the once-living fowl before me - now shredded, marinated and wrapped in a soft tortilla - have the same right to life as I? Truly it did: There was no justice in its death and my consumption of its being. But as those sweet juices of animal flesh drizzled down my throat, I knew I cared not. It died so I could forget the pain of my life by indulging in the remains of its thighs covered in sour cream and salsa. And I was glad! Yes, dear reader, I rejoiced to suck its remains into my stomach. I laugh now thinking about it. A cold, joyless laugh that resounds throughout my head. I laugh at my tacit participation in this sham of worldly justice and order.

I pretend to care about a fair and just world, one where everyone has equal opportunity to love, laugh and play POGs, but deep down I simply close my eyes. If caging someone means making my life easier, I can turn my head, flutter my eyelids - as if flirting with Divine Retribution to distract it - and ignore the painful realities of life. Just so I can dive face-first into a world of consumeristic satiation - or dare I say, consumeristic Satanism!

Do you hear that caged bird singing? Smells like dinner to me.

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