I lightly boiled three eggs,
mashed them up in a bowl
with a healthy dose of olive oil,
pepper and salt, and some chopped greens, mostly spinach.
I enjoyed it very much.
Does this remotely resemble any traditional dish, that I could look to for guidance and refinement?
I think the addition of raw corn, or perhaps lightly cooked mushrooms, would be a worthwhile endeavor.
Meanwhile my erstwhile partner jokingly asks if I’m having an affair.
This on account of twice cooking dinner without premeditation, including enough for leftovers, and once waking up early enough to walk the lake before work, and I think there was a massage in there somewhere.
All behavior in keeping with my ever-present intentions, but not so much my regularly demonstrated behaviors.
I read a piece in one of her old copies of the Sun Magazine, that flipped the script on the cliche admonishment, “Live each day like it’s your last one.”
Live, this author wrote (albeit with more patience and poetry) like you’re already dead.
Savor this moment, not because it could be your last, but it’s a coin already spent.
You are already a corpse, experiencing a lucid dream of a life that has long since ended.
Breathe in this moment, because when you wake from it, you will no longer have lungs.
It’s a fitting corollary to my favorite Grant Morrison quote:
Fear of dying is only a signpost… you are not even born yet.*
* The ellipses elides 17 very important words… but that’s a post for another set of photographs.
