Chap This

I was searching for substance, for direction.

A flash of thought suggested I might return to that sentence and change the word searching for others; seeking, hunting, or perhaps prowling? There are others to be sure, which is not the same as certain.

A habitual internal rebuking of how I handle my moment to moment thinking.

Until I submit to the idea we can’t control that, or so I’ve read; by extension convinced to believe.

I’m wandering off right now, I can feel it. Like at a party listening to a stranger answer a polite conversational query.

“What do you do?”

Holy shit, will this guy ever shut up about how he adores himself?

Revere or adore, does it matter? Where are the chicken wings?

But, I’m a vegetarian; not a vegan, that’s too confusing. The Hipster Vegan? PETA Vegan, Raw Vegan, or the Instagram- look-at-my-shit Vegan.

Omnivorous, I’ll eat what you give me; telling me it’s good for me doesn’t replace taste OK? That’s my criterion.

I’m drifting, I can feel it. Not just by awkward demand to endure the noise from this unwelcomed social stranger, but from what I wanted to construct these words into conveying in the first place.

Find out.

Oh, it’s back! It flittered back into my awareness like a hungry bird, (I decided on famished during my revisit) roosting near a bird feeder hanging near the back patio deck.

    “where’s the chow?”

I was reading postings about Chap books on the Internet. 

I had this notion I’d get my bearings for my own using other author’s honest professions on being.

I just got sad.

Sad that such tripe passes as prose.

That even I could do better, if I only had the needful desire.

I did, not so long ago.

Then I too wanted to convince total strangers I was important; if only in my confused mind doing so was equivalent to proof I mattered. If I didn’t matter to myself, then perhaps strangers would serve as reasonable facsimile; margarine substituting butter; unless you’re Vegan in which then it equates to zero.

That was ripped away from me along with trust in the Easter Bunny and Santa; a traditional ruse to make happy.

Mostly what I preferred was to be left alone, as in don’t mess with my choices.

I’m not even sure content is all that good for me for the rude awakening waiting its turn when I’m not.

I’m prone to revise the most fundamental things I took for granted; what does anger really mean?

And compared to hostile or violence would aggression be such a negative?

We make do with what we bring to the party, and nature never apologizes; we’re tourist.

So being patient with rude, or tolerating a bigot if they don’t affect your economic well being is any sign of sophistication, then I’m your guy.

Just don’t ask me to articulate the differences between Sunni and Shiite OK?

If you don’t know, I’m not going to take your hand and walk you through the nuances.

Crap everything depends.

I’d have a shelf of Ph.D’s to show off to visitors at my home if they’d award certificates for that kind of clarity.

It applies to everything distinctive as spice.  Nothing is remotely like Cinnamon, or Curry, or Garlic for that matter.

Yet we insist on describing characteristics using comparison; everything is this way near or that way from the taste of chicken.

Which by the way, where are those chicken wings? Separated from the function for which they had been designed; flight; modified for ease of consumption.

There’s a small folded card with neatly scripted message by the chafing dish; vegans please use recycled napkins.

Why not?