I am having chicken after ages, only shredded chicken
in a soup, blessed with spice. You know, I stopped eating
chicken when I was a little boy of six, when I first saw
my grandma, with her steady strong hands, slit the chicken’s throat
and fleece it! I started cooking rather late in my life, because I lived
with my Mum till I was 42, and she was so determined to
protect me from the burden of household chores, that she
never let me in the kitchen! Yet I instantly became a good
cook when I got started! I think, the stars have an inspiration
to bequeath you, as even if they seem embedded in a dark mighty distance
and their time is only relative to ours, they speak in a unisoned brightness,
if our perception, perspective, even percipience allows us to define.
If you care to sense their faint glimmer like a precarious light that is
overwhelmed by a whorl of spatial infiniteness! But truths cannot die, for
they are vaulted in the timeless computronics of the Universe.
You know, I can’t say I love my spices, but I use them to flavour and
healthify my cooking. I remember the hors d’art from Mother, she lives
like a clue to my fortunes, everyday! And I suggest each one of you use your
veracity and astuteness to discover your inheritances, not the recommended
legacies by foreigners who stamped their illegitimate marks on
our history books with the endeavour to make us tepid and insipid! You can
see flies want a bite of anything – your food, your unhealed wounds, your
scum, your shit! And mosquitoes go for your blood and give you dengue
and malaria! I can tell you your tropical heat is not your disease; the rapining
invasion and the self-glorifying victors are! You can say we are all
not Apache Indians, but we are all brown from a silent suppressed legacy,
not the conquest of us. They can continue to be victors, like the story in the World Cup
Soccer of 2026 dictates to us; or all the profane institutions of the World
garble at us. We must laugh, laugh, laugh, at their violent selfishness and greed,
and at the inviolateness of our suffering and sacrifice; not with contempt at them
but with the gladness that we don’t suffer the shame, guilt, and culpability
that they do, and that they pretend they have no memory or burden of!!!
montes-musings.blog 