It is odd. Really it is; By nature we are designed to look for signs and omens, like chickens who adopt odd behavior, idiosyncratic routines in a naive attempt to recapitulate the conditions that cause the dropping of the food pellet.
We are social, pack animals and yet we've created tiny matrix boxes of isolation, and then connected them with a magic that will soon be greater than the spoken word, the tender touch, and the primordial family root. Do you understand? You do, but you choose to rejected it.
A mouse in a plastic box, eating as much as he wants, running in circles, exploring a 4x2x2 cm world and thinking he knows the mind of God. And every now and then plucked up by his tail and allowed to mate with an equally frighten, lonely, and socially sanitized female. Coupled and with spooning in mouth, we eat our comfort food.
It's just food. Organic connections be damned!
We don't make food that fit us, rather we change our biology to fit the food. It has always been so. That is why we have been so successful. We adapt. We are plastic (pun intended). We are beginning to fit our biology to the food and drink we make. You might protest, fight it with all your might, but the reality is, this is what we are doing.
It's just food.
It's just water.
It's just soda and pop, father of all sugar drinks. It encapsulates all our vestigial quirks. The essential need for water and sugar. But that's not enough. The wiring dictates an addiction for sugar highs, and caffeine vigilance. And supply-side economics gladly give us our Monster drinks.
OK. Enough raving for today. I take a shower, and go outside to my patch of green grass. There are industrial chickens who are certified organic because they too have a little patch of outside next to their "roost", but they never step out because that is not the life they know.
We can't go back to being free range fouls, but this roost stinks.
We are social, pack animals and yet we've created tiny matrix boxes of isolation, and then connected them with a magic that will soon be greater than the spoken word, the tender touch, and the primordial family root. Do you understand? You do, but you choose to rejected it.
A mouse in a plastic box, eating as much as he wants, running in circles, exploring a 4x2x2 cm world and thinking he knows the mind of God. And every now and then plucked up by his tail and allowed to mate with an equally frighten, lonely, and socially sanitized female. Coupled and with spooning in mouth, we eat our comfort food.
It's just food. Organic connections be damned!
We don't make food that fit us, rather we change our biology to fit the food. It has always been so. That is why we have been so successful. We adapt. We are plastic (pun intended). We are beginning to fit our biology to the food and drink we make. You might protest, fight it with all your might, but the reality is, this is what we are doing.
It's just food.
It's just water.
It's just soda and pop, father of all sugar drinks. It encapsulates all our vestigial quirks. The essential need for water and sugar. But that's not enough. The wiring dictates an addiction for sugar highs, and caffeine vigilance. And supply-side economics gladly give us our Monster drinks.
OK. Enough raving for today. I take a shower, and go outside to my patch of green grass. There are industrial chickens who are certified organic because they too have a little patch of outside next to their "roost", but they never step out because that is not the life they know.
We can't go back to being free range fouls, but this roost stinks.
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