Scatter Bag

This is how the nightmare begins: I am trapped inside a chinois, or perhaps a colander, it's hard to tell. Whatever it is, there are huge, steaming pieces of cauliflower being dumped on me. I try to say that I have eaten all my vegetables, but when I open my mouth there is silence; and when I try to run up the wall of colander, I cannot run. It turns out that I am not even a pet rock. I am not sure what I am, and then I wake up. I am me. You can click on my photo to see my complete profile.

You see, I actually have been cooking. I just haven't been blogging. I made two pots of gumbo, and I ate from the second one for seven days. On the eighth day I was consumed by flames. I sat down to write a note about spelt and millet (and how they are magnetically opposed to one another), but I couldn't write. Instead I thought about Socrates.


This is what Socrates called an ideal lunch. Notice the symmetry. Notice the hot cauliflower. Things do run in circles. The minneola oranges are so juicy, when you slice one the juice runs all down your beard. Your beard is everywhere. Something is complete.

Socrates corrupted my mind.