Marc
The Body As An Experience:
The touch of a shopping cart on the finger, the rub of a desk on the calf, the feeling of bass strings rubbing against the underside of your arm -- experiences. Contact. Description by definition.
Tonight was a strange one, where I was categorically unmotivated to do anything earlier but lay on the couch or lay in bed, trying to read, but eventually I grew tired of what Lester Bangs was trying to tell me, so I fell asleep at seven, and didn't wake up til damn near nine, when the phone rang, and I was shuffled off to the grocery store after a short wait. There, I got to meander through the aisles, picking up boxes of foodstuffs, mostly non-perishables, with a few perishables thrown in for good luck, and good health (p'shaw!). The total was acceptable, though putting it on my credit card wasn't, seeing as how I'm in massive credit card debt already, and don't need anymore reason to sink down deeper. But, I digress. The body. Let's keep the focus.
The touch, the feel, the fabric of our lives -- Cheez Its. The salt rubs off on your fingers, the cheese gets stuck between your teeth, but still -- they're so damned addictive. You can't eat just one. It's a sensation of realization, where you know (absolutely fucking know!) that this is the best moment that you could possibly be having right now, sitting on the couch, watching a Biography on A & E about the various Saturday Night Live casts, eating Cheez It's (or Fudgesicles, whichever you may prefer). This is the proverbial "IT". This is bliss -- in the PM Dawn sense of the word. Why, though? Why does food do that to us?
We know, or I know, or you know, that eating after nine o'clock is bad. Scooter prolly doesn't do it. I know Matt does, but I'm not so sure about Zook. His gut seemed to protrude just a little the last time I saw him, nowhere near my protrusionosity, but it didn't look like it used to. Why can't we eat without gaining weight? Why can't we just gorge ourselves and not ever show it? I know people that can, like Matt, who can chow at all hours of the day or night, and never seem to do much physical work, and stay impossibly skinny for the duration of their lives. But not me. Gosh. One handful of Corn Flakes could add three pounds. Once, I lost four pounds one day cause I watched what I ate, but gained it all back (plus three more) the next day after realizing that I was ridiculously (improbably) hungry. Fucking food -- the bane of my existence.
But, this is my body, as much as I wish it wasn't. It's here. It's there. There's some over there on the bed. When did my thighs learn how to read (or walk for that matter)? I've got a big head, too, but that doesn't have anything to do with my weight problem.
The Body As An Experience:
The touch of a shopping cart on the finger, the rub of a desk on the calf, the feeling of bass strings rubbing against the underside of your arm -- experiences. Contact. Description by definition.
Tonight was a strange one, where I was categorically unmotivated to do anything earlier but lay on the couch or lay in bed, trying to read, but eventually I grew tired of what Lester Bangs was trying to tell me, so I fell asleep at seven, and didn't wake up til damn near nine, when the phone rang, and I was shuffled off to the grocery store after a short wait. There, I got to meander through the aisles, picking up boxes of foodstuffs, mostly non-perishables, with a few perishables thrown in for good luck, and good health (p'shaw!). The total was acceptable, though putting it on my credit card wasn't, seeing as how I'm in massive credit card debt already, and don't need anymore reason to sink down deeper. But, I digress. The body. Let's keep the focus.
The touch, the feel, the fabric of our lives -- Cheez Its. The salt rubs off on your fingers, the cheese gets stuck between your teeth, but still -- they're so damned addictive. You can't eat just one. It's a sensation of realization, where you know (absolutely fucking know!) that this is the best moment that you could possibly be having right now, sitting on the couch, watching a Biography on A & E about the various Saturday Night Live casts, eating Cheez It's (or Fudgesicles, whichever you may prefer). This is the proverbial "IT". This is bliss -- in the PM Dawn sense of the word. Why, though? Why does food do that to us?
We know, or I know, or you know, that eating after nine o'clock is bad. Scooter prolly doesn't do it. I know Matt does, but I'm not so sure about Zook. His gut seemed to protrude just a little the last time I saw him, nowhere near my protrusionosity, but it didn't look like it used to. Why can't we eat without gaining weight? Why can't we just gorge ourselves and not ever show it? I know people that can, like Matt, who can chow at all hours of the day or night, and never seem to do much physical work, and stay impossibly skinny for the duration of their lives. But not me. Gosh. One handful of Corn Flakes could add three pounds. Once, I lost four pounds one day cause I watched what I ate, but gained it all back (plus three more) the next day after realizing that I was ridiculously (improbably) hungry. Fucking food -- the bane of my existence.
But, this is my body, as much as I wish it wasn't. It's here. It's there. There's some over there on the bed. When did my thighs learn how to read (or walk for that matter)? I've got a big head, too, but that doesn't have anything to do with my weight problem.
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