Barometrically, it’s raining. Something about the pressure and the clouds. Time to collect water. I’m sitting in a cold restaurant, getting ready to eat arepas. Happily drinking nighttime black coffee. Wearing a sweater. My hands are cold. But I’m in a springy place. There’s a parrot holding up the salt and pepper shakers. Its eyeball has been scratched away. My memory has been on my mind. As I relay these details, I must remember them long enough to type them. But will I remember them beyond any editing experiences (and possible personal audiobook reading)? I think perhaps. But only if I focus, imbue the details with meaning. I will remember this unshapely parrot, this salt & pepper sharing machine. It looks angry. As if these shakers are what it’s meant to be holding, but there’s a great chance someone is going to take them away without asking. I certainly won’t be the one to do it. There’s a tapatio-esque sauce blocking the salt from my view. I won’t move it. But this parrot probably has the same colored left hands as right.
Beyond this coffee (hot, not delicious, exactly as I wanted it), I’m the only customer in this restaurant. The coffee is of course a customer of me. An aspirant to the services of my gut bacteria. Why must anything be a customer of anything? Why can’t value be exchanged without being tracked, paid for, moneyed? I believe I know. I am a resonance machine, unlike this parrot. When my salt is taken away, I’m happy for it. Or something like happy. I’m not quite sure what happy means. It’s mostly a resonance. So it’s strange, not being able to remember music-resonances. I will remember this parrot though. And this arepa. It’s extremely tasty, as predicted.
Robin Dunbar has had me thinking about friends, and numbers. I’m much happier to be thinking about friends than numbers as I get arepa grease all over the keyboard. But this can’t wait, and neither can this deliciousness. Caprese arepa. Who would have thought. Caprepa. Maybe not.
And double decker pancake, which I cannot remember the name of. Too much music. But wow. Delicious. Reaching over to hit a couple sentences in between very hot bites. Is this enough plot for you? Are you following along? I’m not going to tell you where I am.
My vagueness can be resented. But it’s more like a barometer. Accept the obscurity, obtain the specific. How many poets are trying to produce scientifically reproducible observations? I guess the ones who are scientists. Pretty sure I couldn’t do that. This book won’t make my PhD application more compelling.
Not that I’ll ever go back to “school”. I’m in school. When I have questions, I look for the questions nested under those questions and spread out and pick up rocks to look closely at the worms while they poop out soil.
I’m eating this pancake even though it’s a little too hot. It’s too worth it. Missing breakfast is a wonderful reason to eat a double dinner. I don’t have to stop until I stop. Starting late is beautiful. Pancake stacks with chicken in between maintain heat beautifully.
I’m always uncomfortable, a little bit, being served. I need to figure out what the deal is. I love when other people cook food, but I’d like them to bring it when they want, choose to make what they want, and bring more stuff out when they feel like it’s the right thing. Probably related to my lack of acceptance, vaguely.
Roman Ryan 