Flavigula

Here lies Martes Flavigula, eternally beneath the splintered earth.


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Mounds of Comestibles
Food
Distraction
Stagnation
Sun, 28 Feb, 2021 00:00

The final day of February finds me pining for escape. Food is a serious detriment to this goal, however. Lately I’ve noticed just how much consumption affects my daily moods. I was never cognizant of it before, or the effects were less or did not exist at all. Is this a question of age? I’d suspect so. It could also be a question of stasis. I’ve been in a sort of stasis since 2018. I’ll date it to when I abandoned my music work with Mikel. I still agree with my decision to not work with him any longer, but my subsequent situation was one of self-isolation. I have been very productive, true, but at what price? Time has drizzled by and only vague shapes from that four years of drizzle have left impressions on me. Yes - I’ve been immersed in my music and to a lesser extent my writing, but visions of the remainder of the universe are fleeting.

What does this have to do with food? Nothing. It was a tangent. I’m becoming a decrepit old man that cannot continue an idea to its completion, who is time and again distracted by tangents. Instead of directing my own thoughts, they direct me. In fact, that is what food does! I reach back and grasp the thread. Food is a thought dispersal apparatus. It prevents focus. Well, at the time of consumption, of course, the focus still remains, and it is decidedly on the food itself. The process of digestion is the matador. Bastard digestion.

Each day fluctuates between potency and laxness, an exponential curve between each of them. In fact, after the two waffles I consumed, laxness is consuming ME. Much like playing guitar when in lax mode, I miss notes, I grope for words, I lose focus. I observe it slipping away as I type at this instant. What a phenomenon! So what is the solution then?

Well, I should have just eaten one waffle. Not two. I shall pursue this strategy during comida. I do not want the day to be a series of uselessnesses.

Even more alarming is that when in lax mode, I have little or less desire to escape from my cage. The cage of Logroño, where I waste away. I want to curl up in bed and read. No wonder the revolutionaries of the word were always malnourished. Fasting brings desire for change. It promotes an active brain. Before my brain ceases all movement, and it is threatening to at this moment: I don’t want to indicate that the situation is black and white. Though the catholic attitude is prevalent culturally here to the extent that it is playing out in the background of most everyone’s lives, religious or not, the food phenomenon I’m describing is not black and white. If I consume moderately at mid-day, I am just as vital. There is a tipping point, however. Perhaps this, too, is a vague line, but nevertheless one that exists. I cannot cross it.

I’ve already crossed it this morning, however, and shall go back to bed and read for a while. Fuck um.

Along with martens, goulish goats and the rippling fen -
these writings 1993-2021 by Bob Murry Shelton are licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

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