06-06-2006, 03:42 PM
Free verse poem entitled: Food is Worthy....
All your thoughts gravitate towards the image of chees-trap-chaos, and death to infidels aspca speeches. Nausiating most at the mere smell and
mere sight of the pellets in room corners and as effective as chemical agents running from your house in sheer horror or standing on top of furniture in the game against time and dignity. Watching these things in flight considered to be abominations of fecal flying matter hovering at mach 10 old dogfights and missle precision shit bombs finding there x-marks-the-spot on innocent heads of civilians. Lives lost and yet they continue to over-populate major cities and cause so many to be afraid of the sounds that are anything related to the scurry-hurry-hurry and become an eye irritant waking up even the most soundless of sleepers.
I thought when my friends said that we are going to New York City eating their famous cuisine that the food would be delicious and unrepulsive. I had mistaken and I caught an eye full when our main courses were served to us alive at first then under dictatorship thumbs-up and thumbs-down approval killed our soon to be martyr fried in oils. I didn't know if words would have come at a price of intestinal bilemia and cause the waiters to subdue me in an attempt to save there customers. As my friend selected the rodent declaring that it was perfect like me because it would fill me(making fun of my weight, the rodent hung of the waiter/cook arms and the image of the whole process flashed in white, black, and red. These were my friends who brought me to eat what is considered a delicasy and it supposed to taste like chicken. My mouth was not watering but drying in hopes of mouth closure and I had already drunk half the tables complementary water.
The meal had been prepared in its lavish cabob-skewer and glazed over with vinegerette and honey. My friends became incapsulated by the stop watch marithon
of what I had in front of me. Its body still charred from my death sentence and through peer pressure took my first eye tearing unsuccpecting bite of what to come. As I took a small bite feeling the tear of skin peel of to fresh meat the salivation began to run from the back of mouth enjoying the agony of the hunt and my captured prey enjoyment. Alas, my friends bagan to laugh and applaud in victory as they watched me consume the horrid piece of interesting "White"-grey meat. The appitizer was a pigeon and no my stomach closed its eyes and the smells of the bird entering digestive track and enjoying the perfection of such a mislead and unknown creature.
That was uncomfortable but when you allow yourself to do something new and allow your taste buds and stomach and culture diversity to enter the mouth and belly, you must realize that in the end it was the experience of tear eyed pain of unknown and the plate cleaned that you take appreciation toward other types of food and cultures. They were right in tastes like chicken.... I'll probably never touch that in my life again unless I had to in order to survive. Atleast I have options....
All your thoughts gravitate towards the image of chees-trap-chaos, and death to infidels aspca speeches. Nausiating most at the mere smell and
mere sight of the pellets in room corners and as effective as chemical agents running from your house in sheer horror or standing on top of furniture in the game against time and dignity. Watching these things in flight considered to be abominations of fecal flying matter hovering at mach 10 old dogfights and missle precision shit bombs finding there x-marks-the-spot on innocent heads of civilians. Lives lost and yet they continue to over-populate major cities and cause so many to be afraid of the sounds that are anything related to the scurry-hurry-hurry and become an eye irritant waking up even the most soundless of sleepers.
I thought when my friends said that we are going to New York City eating their famous cuisine that the food would be delicious and unrepulsive. I had mistaken and I caught an eye full when our main courses were served to us alive at first then under dictatorship thumbs-up and thumbs-down approval killed our soon to be martyr fried in oils. I didn't know if words would have come at a price of intestinal bilemia and cause the waiters to subdue me in an attempt to save there customers. As my friend selected the rodent declaring that it was perfect like me because it would fill me(making fun of my weight, the rodent hung of the waiter/cook arms and the image of the whole process flashed in white, black, and red. These were my friends who brought me to eat what is considered a delicasy and it supposed to taste like chicken. My mouth was not watering but drying in hopes of mouth closure and I had already drunk half the tables complementary water.
The meal had been prepared in its lavish cabob-skewer and glazed over with vinegerette and honey. My friends became incapsulated by the stop watch marithon
of what I had in front of me. Its body still charred from my death sentence and through peer pressure took my first eye tearing unsuccpecting bite of what to come. As I took a small bite feeling the tear of skin peel of to fresh meat the salivation began to run from the back of mouth enjoying the agony of the hunt and my captured prey enjoyment. Alas, my friends bagan to laugh and applaud in victory as they watched me consume the horrid piece of interesting "White"-grey meat. The appitizer was a pigeon and no my stomach closed its eyes and the smells of the bird entering digestive track and enjoying the perfection of such a mislead and unknown creature.
That was uncomfortable but when you allow yourself to do something new and allow your taste buds and stomach and culture diversity to enter the mouth and belly, you must realize that in the end it was the experience of tear eyed pain of unknown and the plate cleaned that you take appreciation toward other types of food and cultures. They were right in tastes like chicken.... I'll probably never touch that in my life again unless I had to in order to survive. Atleast I have options....
