The Marshmallow
Heidegger calls us “Dasein”.
Beings who require concrete experiences to be able to come up with deep, ontological thoughts.
Doesn’t that suck?
I’m going to have to admit that while I agree with that, I can relate more with Plato as he theorizes that we are all just souls striving to break away from our earthly bodies; bodies that lust and crave for the pleasures of this world.
It sits there now, so white, so soft, so pure. Tempting innocence! All alone on the ceramic, as if saying that there would be no one to see if I were to nibble just a little bit of its softness, and feel its sweetness on my tongue.
As sure as I am writing today, know that I am suffering! I am a tortured soul.
I have lived a full life of 36 years, and now I realize that the one object that I have found to hate the most is the clock. Tick, tock, tick, tock; the impudence of it! The secondhand goes merrily round, slowly, slowly, as if to flaunt that it had all the time in the world. It started moving before I was born, and it will continue to turn long after my death, when my body has dissolved into the dust from whence Adam originated.
Oh Adam! I can now see the inner turmoil of your soul on that fated day on which you partook of the fruit that brought the downfall of the human race. We are kindred spirits, for I am now suffering the same torment. I do believe that I have not had such a torturous two hours in my entire life! I feel myself going wild with the want of the mallow, and now I resent and hate it with a passion.
But is that not always how it is with things that you desire? They are the sweetest executioners, leading their willing victims to the guillotine! Accursed body of mine, to be swayed by such a petty object! Shame on you.
The half-point mark is reached, and I am almost rabid. A small seed of doubt has been sown in my mind that at the end of the 5-hour time period, my mallow will not be eaten by me, but by someone else. It scares me to admit the truth, but I feel that I am not above slaying with my bare hands whoever tries to take it away. What is the blood of others over the insatiable need I have for my just reward? Five hours of my life! What started out as a fun break to my business routine has now turned into the catalyst for my murderous tendencies. If you plan to approach me before the sweet is in my mouth, I cannot guarantee your safety.
What am I saying? What has become of me? I am wretched. Oh, Plato, Plato, did it ever occur to you that some prisoners were better off left in the cave? The sun burns!
I want my routine back, my content life. I want my routine back, I want my routine back, I want it back, but!! I want this marshmallow more!
We are all of us just beings careening towards a dark and tempestuous path.
It’s been three hours now, and I am fine. The mallow is sitting on the table, untouched, the ceramic plate broken and in my hands. There have been suspicious footsteps and voices coming from behind the door and I have made sure I was armed in case they came in. My fingers are gripping the shards so tightly that they’re bleeding onto the floor.
Heidegger, I have never felt more alive.
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