PABULUM sana nasib
What is salt without pepper? What is ketchup without fries? Most importantly, what is a jar of basil pesto without pasta? Nothing most would consider a satisfying experience. Few would scoop into me with a silver spoon and lap me up like mother’s milk to the tongue. What’s more, I would never want to be diminished into such a state, by an object so smooth and boring or an organ so sloppy, almost crass in its movements. No, it must be the pasta. The whole wheat variety, elongated noodles or precise penne, but never curly ones. I’d rather die than touch something so inelegant, and I will, eventually, although the death is not in the sense which humans would think it is. My inconsistency is broken down in parts smaller than the tiniest raindrop, and I become one with the human, until I am not. You may say that I am pretentious in the manner in which I speak, or even hypocritical for my response to being licked up with a tongue considering the manner of my future excretion. To that may I say, there is no dignity in existing, but that which we create 37
