10:27AM - Materialism and Wastefulness Personified
Once there was a patch of herbs, living in a little niche in a rock. Not just any herbs, but beautiful white-herbs, grown with the sighs of the earth as it gave up precious minerals. The plants grew intensely, fired on by the wet breezes of the ancient coastland. Then on full moon, the herbs felt the happy slash of an rutted steel sickle. Curious babbling voices carried them tenderly down to a deep dark container.
"Where are we?" they wondered aloud. Then, from deep underneath them, distant weakening voices muffled out, "We have been chosen! We are the finest herbs - together we shall die and become glorious tastes for man. We have been chosen - how great an honor!"
They were crushed, squeezed, roasted, packed in plastic, and rushed over many miles. Now, they are dead, save for only the thinnest aura of life-light that surrounds them. Then one day - the rush of oxygen! Air! They had arrived! The moment that all plants learn of, dream of since that first ray of light! A squeeze, a drop! Oh, the heat! The heat! It burned them! And the oil, oh that hot, freeing liquid - the pain soon gave way to heated release. As their last stream of unseen light left them, their last thoughts: "Finally. This is what we were born for."
Yet fate had a different plan for the rest of the herbs. As glorious as death was, another voice found them one day. It spoke to them, to itself. Of waste, of waste - of smell. They smelled not, they wasted nothing, yet they were cast aside, into - into darkness. Into refuse. Into a land of rot, and mildew, of mold and fungi. Their cries were unheard. As they too began to wither and writhe, as fungal fingers began to tear at their bodies, their only thoughts? "Unjust, unjust our end! We were not born for this! This is injustice...this is waste!"
But no one hears them. They cry still.
My curry paste, which was a gift from my Mom, was thrown away. Sometime this week. Materialism, Wastefulness, and the endless, fruitless pursuit of Cleanliness is now a disease in my mind. What merited it's throwing away? It was fine. Curry pastes keep for years. Do people not understand? This is my food. My memories. Do not touch!!!! DAMN.
aggravated