Out in the fields: a messianic mechanism of entropy ending up under the wedding canopy. Ancient Romans found if you left old dough in the sun, sprinkled in sugar, the dough would revive. Where’s the line between rot and fizz? What breaks down and what then bubbles up? And what of the whackness of how the rightest yeasts and sugars find each other in nature, ending in the ripest elixirs for our human desires. But next year it’s look who’s back under the chupah. Now I think of that firecracker octogenarian boss of mine, who as a girl shot out of Poland just days before it was rubble, who sat across from my heartache-cries in her silk kimono, surrounded by Miro’s and Picasso’s, and bellowed, Fuck him! Fuck that! You lose what you love. If we’re going to live the rest of our lives together, what can I do to make us both comfortable in this body? Yeast-he once said, giving a batch of brew a careful ice bath-wants what we want. What do you want?-I would pray to the so-called virus of the so-called degenerative neurological disorder. It likes to eat what it likes, stay comfortably cool, and excrete to do it all again. And now, we see: a sort of magic, in so-called controlled conditions. Before that, we saw: a sort of magic, in certain conditions. Takes a million of these hungry lives clumped together to become visible. We’ve been brewing for millennia and didn’t see yeast’s role until less than two-hundred years ago. So-called water under the so-called bridge.
Have you ever been roommates with a yeast infection for two years? If yes, you may have been misdiagnosed for one of those years with a degenerative neurological disorder, in a foreign country, where you crossed the border to buy medicine, aggressive medicine, to treat the wrong damn thing, incurable anyway. So I learned about yeast, and yeast learned me-at the very least intimately. The organism was eating me, and I was drinking the organism, and we both couldn’t seem to stop. At the time, as is often the case, I had a complex relationship to a single-celled organism.
0 kommentar(er)
