Food, cooked or raw,
cannot escape from symbolism.
It is, & also simultaneously represents
that which it is.

All food is soul food.

But in the airless vault of our civilization,
…nearly every experience is mediated,
reality strained through the deadening mesh
of consensus-perception,
we lose touch with food as nourishment;
we begin to construct for ourselves
personae based upon what we consume,
products as projections
of our hunger
for the authentic.

LITE parodies
spiritual emptiness & illumination,
just as McDonald’s
travesties the imagery of fullness & celebration.
The human spirit (not to mention hunger)
can overcome & transcend
all this fetishism
—joy can erupt even at Burger King,
& even LITE beer may hide a dose of Dionysus.

But why should we have to struggle against
all this garbagy tide of cheap
rip-off ticky-tack,
when we could be
drinking the wine of paradise
even now under our own fig tree?

T.A.Z. The Temporary Autonomous Zone, Ontological Anarchy, Poetic Terrorism by Hakim Bey, Communique #11, Special Holiday Season Food Issue Rant: Turn Off the Lite! page 53

P.S. The dullard sees no eros in fine champagne; the sorcerer can fall intoxicated on a glass of water.

The thought was to take a break from Nietzsche-Zarathustra, so I continued to read from T.A.Z. I suppose the material is not that far removed from the ruminations of the God-is-dead-and-we-killed-Him philosopher. In my opinion a majority of philosophers and post WWII writers and playwrights work in dialog, reacting or responding to the themes introduced by Nietzsche. Bey is no exception to this tendency.

I confess that I enjoy observing things grow. Annually I put tomato, cucumber, and squash into the vegetable beds and nurture them along. I have faith in good fortune that a delectable harvest will be in store come late summer. The outcome is not guaranteed however. I suppose this heightens my enjoyment as the blossoms appear on the young plants, then the tiny immature vegetables begin to grow to maturity. Joy and celebration are mixed with labor, yin and yang.

My parents came from a heritage of farming. I recall year upon year their work and satisfaction with a garden. Now I recall with admiration a time late in their lives when the produce of the garden was so abundant, they could hardly give away all of the excess.

The quotation from Bey is a meditation upon the reciprocal relationship between contemporary social values, food, and the individual self.

What-the-fuck have we done? What mindlessly are we doing to ourselves?