People seem to be fatter these days than when I grew up. Triceps blubbering, hang-over bellies wriggling, melon-ball bits of blubber obscuring the pointiness of an elbow, calves and thighs like sequoias. If it were some primitive setting in Africa or South America, there would be a lot more kings and queens whose bulk was a mark of royalty and leadership.
And of course there are more kings and queens these days. Just ask 'em.
When I grew up, people seemed more trimmed by life, by sweat, by times when the dinner table was not always awash. There were things to do, sweat-work to be done, ball games to play ... and there was more angularity, more sinew, more trim and fit and hardened, perhaps. There was no fetish about it. It was just the facts.
Now, of course, there are stylish gymnasiums and cell phones to promote them.
It just seems to me that there are more fat people, no matter how heart-felt the analyses.
Is this important? I don't know. It's just a passing thought.
It's important because fat is not beautiful. There's no getting around it, politeness notwithstanding.
ReplyDeleteWords are food too. Have a word not a drink, and when you do you better think, "this is good again as ink is on this place for stuffing us".
ReplyDeleteA song i wrote, years back in my rock 'n roller days.
ReplyDeletemuck and googies
daily bread and dorian gravy
apple sky and pulpet stew
once we’ve laid the worship table
gastric orgasmic supper last forever
a-men
you’re scraping by, your buicks dead
your wife’s a pork pie, your kids you dread
your kitchens cluttered, but tables laid
when grace is uttered, you’ll put it away
he’s making millions, got flashy cars
his wife is pretty, his children stars
his chef’s the best, and so’s his maid
with fervent zest, he’ll graze for days
white fat, everyones a big cheese,
white fat, eating what they please
white fat, do you fit the label,
white fat, hunched over a table
your belt is bursting, your heart is primed
you’re liver’s suffering, you can’t unwind
just one more helping, to see you through
panting and sweating, you’re driven to chew
your lifes a banquet of sweetest meats
you’ve refined sugar and bleached your wheat
you just add water and boil away
you’re fit for slaughter, worms sing your praise
white fat, jogging ‘cross the land,
white fat, like swollen glands
white fat, boiling on your back,
white fat, hanging slack