Last week, it’s what I was keeping in my body, and this week it’s about what I won’t put in. No, I’m not talking about the “vaccine” like I could get a hold of it, and would I want to? More like why I don’t name farm life. No Names For Potential Food
Monday, December 21, 2020
Gospel 173 ~No Names For Potential Food~
Hundred And Sixty-Seventh Rule
I AM a Billionaire right now, which means I would do what I can to save animals. Now you should know I’m no vegan or even vegetarian. At the same time, I can’t stand hunters. That is unless we’re talking about “The Most Dangerous Game.” Is that sad? How can I talk about hunting people in the process of killing them? Anyway, that’s an interesting story for another time. Today I want to talk about how I won’t say no to a chicken sandwich. I should have got some bacon yesterday. And how I won’t eat my dog.
Wow, that got sort of dark fast. So when I came up with this rule, I was thinking about the animals. I’ve never had any inclinations of owning a farm though I know Indiana Gone wants to. I see cows and chickens, and I want a sandwich. Clydesdales… yeah, beer. Can’t say I’m a drinker, though. Budweiser was smart to put something cute in its ads. Same with Coca-Cola. Who can forget all those Sarah McLachlan ads? This month has been about Christmas, but the novel “Where The Red Fern Grows” oh God chokes up. My Dæmon, though, sold me on life itself. Why don’t I ever mention his name and I’m sure I have back in the beginning. He’s kept me alive, and even if I was starving… People say it’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine. Always with my firstborn son.
Women are people Will, women are people. Now I know that, of course. I’m also trying so hard to keep my “promise” of how I talk to you and the rest of the girls… sorry, Dirty Diana. My point is, Madam Justice, I can’t be typical with the Beautiful Stranger. Women have lives, and maybe that’s why I fight my addiction the way that I do. The body can be full, but the heart, soul, and mind are empty. It’s sort of the same as writing. You prepare a feast, and then you’re left wanting, and worse, nobody eats anything. Interesting epiphany, yeah? I should wake up early more often. So I start giving names and faces to feel something, anything. And then I either starve myself or bite and leave myself still so unsatisfied.
Maybe I’m hungry, more BBQ? What’s in me or others? No Names For Potential Food.
I Will Have No Fear