Mundate

I am eating an apple.

I am eating a red apple.

I am eating a red Fuji apple.

I am eating a juicy sweet, red and green Fuji apple.

I am eating a juicy, barely blushed Fuji apple, which leaves a tart-sweet taste across my tongue.

I am eating the apple, and the taste takes me back to a time when all I had to worry about was whether I would still be hungry after one apple, or whether I should go for two.

I eat the apple! I, woman, eat the apple! No man peels it for me, and no ring of flesh will be tossed over my shoulder to see who will be my captor and hold the keys of my cage. Because I am woman, hear me eat!

I linger over the next bite into the fresh flesh of the ruby dusted globe of pure sweet nectar–just oh so tart enough to make my lips pucker…making me think of you and that night; you know which night.

I am eating the omega of a world hell bent on self-destruction since the first, the alpha was plucked from the reluctant tree by innocent Woman and bit by gullible Man; led out of gardens of joy by Corporations, who slither here and there whispering words of want, breathing fumes of greed.

I bite the apple and become the apple and the apple becomes me. Therefore, bite me.

I hold the apple to the sun and admire the play of light across it’s shiny surface and think there has never been an apple as perfect as this, and how can I eat it; but I must–the perfection of the apple exists within its core and I must carve away the outer to discover it.

No, I did not have sex with this apple! But if it is left unchecked, I have no doubts that its seeds would proliferate and someday take over the world–forcing you and me into a continuous round of shopping at Wal-Mart because it is WMD: a Wal-Mart Delectable.

What the f**k is an apple suckling tree and is this apple I suck from it?

If apples weblogged they would….wait, that sounds strange.