Avocado Philosophy
Whenever I eat an Avocado, its always the same procedure. The excitement arises as I slice it in half, the anticipation boils up inside me as I prepare it methodically, lovingly though somewhat impulsively, a bit like smoking a joint, for example.
The intention is to grasp its affect and take time to attend to its sweet existence. Its got that familiar taste, soft texture and creamy flavour. I know as soon as the idea to dine on such a fruit appears as a desire in my mind, that hedonistic version of me begs like a child for this minor pleasure, reveals that I truly do appreciate its delicacy by all innocence.
Although I know before I register its progress from palm to stomach, that it will have been and gone before I can acknowledge its beauty and exoticism. I can insist that every time I eat an Avocado that I enjoy it, but in those moments I am eating it, I am never fully present with the experience.
The second half greets me as I carefully slip the stone out of the centre, cautious as to not batter or contort the nutritious and appealing yellowish substance. No matter how hard I focus, I am aware that its existence will inevitably end and the amusement will cease.
It is almost as hard to find my self in the minutes I consume it, as it is when I lose my self in the hours of mindless copulation. This is why I conclude that Avocados are better than Sex.
The intention is to grasp its affect and take time to attend to its sweet existence. Its got that familiar taste, soft texture and creamy flavour. I know as soon as the idea to dine on such a fruit appears as a desire in my mind, that hedonistic version of me begs like a child for this minor pleasure, reveals that I truly do appreciate its delicacy by all innocence.
Although I know before I register its progress from palm to stomach, that it will have been and gone before I can acknowledge its beauty and exoticism. I can insist that every time I eat an Avocado that I enjoy it, but in those moments I am eating it, I am never fully present with the experience.
The second half greets me as I carefully slip the stone out of the centre, cautious as to not batter or contort the nutritious and appealing yellowish substance. No matter how hard I focus, I am aware that its existence will inevitably end and the amusement will cease.
It is almost as hard to find my self in the minutes I consume it, as it is when I lose my self in the hours of mindless copulation. This is why I conclude that Avocados are better than Sex.