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Flesh | Aug 21 2002

Discovered today that my readership has gone up twenty percent since I stopped writing so much. I’m not so sure I’m happy about this.

Among other things, it reminds me of the old saw that women are attracted to men who treat them badly.

Regrettably I think there’s some truth to that old saw.

However, I want to assure you that our relationship is based on a very different model. You are hungry and I feed you. Or rather, I try to feed you. And in the process am fed.

Actually, the hungry person is me. I feed myself.

I’m not entirely sure where you come in, but suddenly there is twenty percent more of you.

It is only marginally relevant, but this reminds of a Jewish saying: There is always enough food in the house for one more meal.

Every time I think of this, I have the same reaction: What bull. Eventually one runs out of the last thing on hand, baking powder or something, at which point no more meals.

Is the author suggesting we eat our own flesh?

If so, our flesh will run out in the end, the same as anything else.

Nothing doesn’t run out.