Why the World Lacks Sustenance

IN the world that I see . . . corporate supermarkets will charge a family's entire year's salary for one sickly steer, its genes altered (and six legs as a consequence), a loaf of bread filled with enough preservatives to make it last forever (literally), and a 10-gallon cask of brown-gray water, with a green-grey cloudy film that smells suspiciously like fecies. Some CEO will be signing his last agreement with Krispy Kreme, now the world's only donut and fried foods conglomerate. Indeed, as a witness to the proceedings, the glazed abom- ination lay in front of the contract, almost three weeks old (and he just bought it this morning). It smelled stale too, like a soft leather shoe, the dough pliant from the work of years, the sweat of hours. A lonely bum on the filthiest corner of the city (no matter which, they are all owned by the state - who redesignsthe gridto look like the nine rings ofHell itself) rifles through the compost, looking for something, anything to sustain him. He eyes a flaccid, maggoty roast beef sandwich, the likes of which taste like the newspaper he slept on last night. Alas, the world has been kind to him - at least for today. And, somewhere far away - not an earth, dont be naive - the artisan was just unraveling the cloth of his life's work, the prize of his trade and pay off of months of waiting and aging, of flavor and wisdom. The cheese was now as ripe as this spring day, the wet sun shrouded in the unveiling mist. The taste of it was more luscious than life. [Back on earth] And you wish longingly, wonder idly, where it all went wrong.