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Friday, January 06, 2006

Maggot Food

I complain to Barry that the muse has left me, and when I say ‘muse’ I mean confidence, ego, the arrogance it takes to string mere words as though they are pearls and present them as art. “I can’t write anymore B. The muse has left me.”

“Wait.” He tells me. “We are eggs, waiting.”

I am perverse. He says ‘eggs’ and I see penguin fathers and mothers looming over an egg they failed to pass from warm perch on momma’s feet to warm perch on daddy’s feet. I see the waiting, trusting, perfect egg roll on permafrost, and crack in twenty seconds flat, because this world of eggs and warm perches includes a wind chill factor of -70. The long march to the mating ground in vain, the penguin parents mourn as long as wind chill and starvation will allow before walking away, leaving the egg behind, because the egg is no longer hope. It is no longer life. It is no longer waiting.

“We are maggot food.” I tell him, instead of relating my penguin story. He is a father, too. He’ll have seen the movie, will recognize that the Goddess he believes I am is really just a mom who watches movies like The March of The Penguins with her kids, and is moved by the plight of mommy and daddy tux-wearing adorably waddling penguins. Who are also, in the end, maggot food.

I realize that typing it into a text screen like that - we are maggot food - is enough to depress anyone. It dawns on me that the absence of an emoticon or a j/k or a quickly typed qualifier to lighten the mood could be perceived as cruel. I hate emoticons. I have a very poorly developed sense of humour, and tend not to say anything that requires the post script ‘j/k’. I know that I have rarely found anything funny that required that post script. I have usually, when confronted with that post script, thought I was being manipulated in some way. So I leave it as is.

We are maggot food.

And I think about penguins and cracked eggs and this is your brain on drugs and waiting and writing.

And I wait, egg-like, braced to crack or hatch.

F. Stuart

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The previous horrible anonymous spam comment almost resonates with your post, like the worms creeping in. Anyway, I found the melancholy of your post eerily beautiful. From dust to dust.
Shinsato -

You're right. The spam was almost perfect. Throw some Viagra in there, and we have all life's meaningless pursuits all rolled in to one comment.


I'm glad it moved you.

I'm with shinsato. Lovely post.

Here's to "hatching".
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