- - Sunday, August 10, 2014 Coffee through your veins like a mirage of pumping lucidity. Rich and deep and nutty and smooth, all at the same time. It's those little moments; coffee so hot it scalds my tongue, so I must spit it back into the cup; I salivate from the bitter shock, the pain, so that when I spit back into the cup, I drool onto the floor. This crazy gelatinous material is the consistency of Triton-X; which is a detergent I use in the lab, that is made of molecules in intricately folding, sharp-cornered stacks; perhaps a clean hexagonal ring here or there, to bind everything together. But where is my spit forged? In cells in glands in this cyclical, circular little machine that is my body, weaving together all little parts of nature, like the ribbon of gold and peach that wove through cream clouds yesterday, hiding and emerging in a coy attempt to seduce the dusk. Pumping out the little geometric proteins, molecules that adhere to each other so, form thick clear globules that coat my tongue, my food, your lips; allow me to seek nourishment from the things I eat, to turn it into more of myself; newer versions of myself, in perpetual repetition. This game of copy-making, of miniature constant 3-D printing, is life: growth, and sustenance in the most basic material sense of the word.

posted by Kick-butt soccer star @ 3:35 PM 0 Comments: Post a Comment << Home