August 07, 2011

The XXL... Excerpt III From A Work In progress (from Lupe Fiasco)

For some reason or another I decided to post this entry from Lupe in its entirety. I have to read this a few more times myself but, I figured I get it in before I head off to work.

The XXL...

Its by far the best of times. There is so much to choose from. Endless choice. An abundance of delicacies. Filling the void should be easy. And what a hungry void it is! And as deep as it is hungry but by the time i'm finished with it it will be stuffed to the brim. By the forkful and by the forklift it will be satisfied. And there is so much more to be piled upon satisfaction as well. Layer after layer. No other time can compare to the surplus of these present hours. No other place can even begin to compare tallies of gorgeous, delectable things.

We are leaps and bounds ahead of the nearest and so far ahead of the farthest, one is presupposed to even question their very existence. To the limits we go. Bulging ever further from our cores. Pushing our borders into territories as of yet unknown. Growing ever so gargantuan. Swelling and puffing from the intake of the wide array of delights. I envy not those who lack. I pity them. The only thing that pulls me from the depths of complete sorrow for their plight is the ever comforting pillow of mine own plump abundance. If i could wish away their ghastly slim inhabitance I would not refrain even an atom's weight from doing just that service.
My expedience of action pours out of my humane mercy and out of due responsibility over the potential forfeiture of my own amounts. But most of all my decency in regards to matters of humiliation of others. If i could devour up their unfitness I would do so immediately. I would eat their despair. I would dine on their misery. I would swallow whole the entirety of their abject wretchedness. I would add them to my ever expanding girth. They would become me. And in becoming me they too would feast upon the mouth-watering mass of scrumptious objects. Their palettes would be corrected to discern and detect the honest flavor of substances. The impartiality of their backward gastronomic philosophies would breakdown under the weight of a refined, imperial gourmet sensibility. It moves me to near flooding of my saucers and bowls with tears of joy to have such prophetic knowledge of their future ascension into grace. The rise into the face of civility.

The passage into the mouth of dignity. The regal traverse through the necks of enlightenment. The heroes welcome into the belly of royalty. Look at those faces, so innocent, so pure. I could just gobble them up. The crisis that would arise in aftermath would only be one of "What next?" "WHAT NEXT INDEED?!!" My eyes sharply lift from the empty plate in shock and horror. Until this moment I hadn't pondered this consequence with any serious depth. How did the elephantine gravity of such an impending emergency elude me with such stealth of existence? How will I survive once they have all been eaten? It empties me with dread. Starves me with uncertainty. My eyes search the dining room in grand distress for structures of the most basic edibility. The furniture. The taxidermy. The suits of armor. The rugs. The walls. The candles. The shotguns. The hounds. The servants. My fellow diners. The latter three discoveries calm my desperate search. But instantly I'm whipped into a panic yet again at the notion they too will be insufficient in the long run.

The panicked eyes thus begin the pitiful hunt again. Until suddenly they cease their random interrogation. I have lost control of them. The wandering becomes self aware and detached from my governance. My eyes no longer mine slowly creep their gaze downward, ever so downward. Coming to rest on my own fleshy rotundness. The mouth waters and grins in compliance. The nostrils flare in allegiance. The tongue is diabolic in its conspiracy. The throat swallows in approval. Alas the hunger has found its last resort. Bon appetit.

"Weight loses when patience wins." If I had a gym I would write that on the wall.

Wasalu "Lupe Fiasco" Jaco


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