Nature of the beast
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"I’ve always been a glutton; there’s no denying that. I’ve always licked my plate clean, not out of obligation to use what I’ve been given, but to bring about a bliss that only eating can elicit. While I tear through a steak, snap into a carrot, or chew up a turnip, I feel as if I’m doing something inherently right. When I crunch and munch on everything in sight I fulfill a purpose never planted; I uncover a sentiment never sown; and when the deed is done, and I’m stuffed with the stuff, I earn an achievement never administered. With each bite I find myself closer to some universal truth; it pushes me to pick up the pace. The speed of my gobbling becomes inversely proportional to my chewing, packing my gullet at an exponential rate. For a moment the madness may seem to end when my mucousmembrane- matted tube-of-a-muscle drops the gratuitously gargantuan globs into my growling gut, but this is only an interlude, not an ending. A cycle of near-continuous cramming is established. As I grow fatter from clearing the platter I feel a nameless goddess toe her way to the tip of my tongue. In this moment of merriment, I go for the fated bite, but rather than gifting the enlightenment I crave, she vanishes and all that my trembling teeth receive are the frigid prongs of the fork that fed me. However, this sting of steel rarely deters me from going in for a second helping. One might call this a fruitless endeavor, to which I’d respond: “Nonsense, I eat fruit all the time!”" -- first page
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