| Unkind art of feeding |
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| A social malfunction | |
| Written by Francis Scudellari | |
| Monday, 25 January 2010 14:04 | |
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You have to feed on something, they said, or I imagine them saying, and I do... but I don't want to feed, at least not doing it to trade in visible doubts for a life's uncertain drift between I am, and I'm not... fed fat by the neatly packaged carcasses clearly drained and cellophane wrapped, to keep unclean hands bloodlessly far from mine. I'm told but I won't hear, We're more highly evolved. We think therefore we are so discomfited by not knowing... whether the fed-on think and feel what we do when life's last light runs out, taking with it the green and red that played over flesh and bony because... if they do, it could be, we're feeding on one another. That's the unkind art of feeding.
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