Foie Gras

At night I manage to make myself feel incredibly lonely. The moon is making me lonely, I think. Something in every human is part of every other thing. Windmills, toenails, seesaws, bees and rivers. We’re all being pulled gently towards the moon’s great white embrace. An over protective mother gathering us to her in clockwork intervals. When we are pulled against her, slightly, gently, we feel like we could never possibly bridge that gap. We feel the loneliest we have ever felt.
But, we must understand that the connectedness that we feel towards the moon that draws us to it is illusion. All the things we are connected to are here on the earth. We have all the windmills, toenails, seesaws, bees and rivers we could ever want, right here. But we are an unsatisfied lot. We want ice cream for every meal. We want more colours than we know what to do with. We want steak so rare that we are reaching into wombs and collecting fruit before it is ripe.