i wrote one poem, drew one bar napkin sketch, and wrote one essay. one of those was academic, one honest, and one angry. and those were probably in a different order than you’d think.
i kept thinking about when my mom got food stamps and she’d give me the book, and we didn’t know a bunch about food like i do now, but i did know a thing or two about quantity and also about being kinda hungry, so in short order i got good at understanding bargains.
so when i think about being vegetarian now part of me i guess is still 6 and embarrassed with my stupid purple sweatpants and 5lb chub of ground beef. but another part of me loves that 6 year old more than any resentments he can plant, and out of love for him, i can’t suffer the work of the InHuman on quarterly rushes to define a product chain that requires a separation from the reality of the inhumanity of production simply because we’d collapse into a moment of authentic experience if we saw it; authentic experience which for some would be not dissimilar to recognizing other deals we make or were made for us.
similar grinders INVISIBLE inVISIBLE inVISIBLE, peach skin and straight sex and easy bake oven bullshit is easy for me to understand once I saw a couple of cracks; i still can’t intuit the relative ethical proximity of eating a hamburger to killing a human. but I think it might be a stupid question because i am missing something really obvious.
i don’t eat meat because i really like people. and I’m afraid of what we have to give up to consume autonomy of any kind.