Lunch

Lunch Midday, the throngs gather once more to consume mass quantities - flesh of dead bird or beast cooked in its own juices; starch, boiled or fried; and vegetable matter torn from nurturing ground or branch. Feed and talk - pointless babble about who's doing what with whom - and did you catch the last game? That Barry Bonds is a marvel! Where is that gentle intimacy between friends and colleagues - these are just faceless people who work here. There is no real connection in the crowded cafeteria. All are glad for the excuse to get away from even lonelier desks tucked into lonely cubicles - the telephone and the computer their only companions. The office has become the primordial cave. Lunch once resulted from a communal hunt - cooperation on a group level with survival as the successful outcome. The group ate or went hungry together - the ultimate social equalizer. I wonder what they talked about as they chewed on their half-raw meat - would they have appreciated Barry Bonds? We have lost that touch - our individual survival no longer depends on that person next to us. So we search for that missing link - that kindred soul whose spirit speaks our tongue and sings our songs. Hold on to them when you find them - they are called "poets"! 4/10/2002This just came to me today. Not sure it is a complete idea... may have to do some "version" cleaning later. Let me know what you think. Written April 10th, 2002 © on Apr 10 2002 08:22 AM PST, Heinz Scheuenstuhl    0 • 9