The Existential Curry

I would like to write something mundane, common place or even boring ergo I'm writing about curry.

Maybe I picked the wrong title. Should it be "The Curry Consciousness" or "The Numb and Dumb Curry" or " The Curry of Half my Life"? Whatever.

What's the deal about curry? It helps to know that curry makes me sick up to the marrow of my bones, the cavities of my heart.

I am the sun and curry is my shadow. Go figure.

Curry has a strong, pungent and biting smell. It could repel you YET the stronger it repels you the deeper you are drawn to it. The strenght and robustness of curry will drown you, will make you heave. The aroma premeates my entire being. It carries me to a place I've never been before. It evokes emotions and feelings beyond and above evertyhing I've ever had.

Curry drives me mad.

Curry makes me vomit my reason, logic and sense in one liquid puke.

Curry makes me lose my conscious long-standing principles. Curry is the true embodiment of powdered feelings, sealed words and box-packaged emotions. Curry is the gustatory illusion that beguiles us. So, I am beguiled...always beguiled.

Curry: the sick, sick curry, makes me see things, think about things. It makes me simmer in anguish, hopelesness and waste. Curry will definitely waste me away, itself being a wasted promise. Curry is such a shit.

Curry was never there to begin with. Curry is absent yet omnipresent. Ironic?

Curry is just a product of an overly acute and livid imagination. Curry is an insane, decadent escape for bored, sick minds. It is an escape for raw, bruised and swollen hearts. Hearts drowning in malady, hearts dying and hearts just simply dreaming.

Curry is sinful. It is the death of one's soul and my idea of purgatory. It should not even be mentioned nonetheless thought of. That is curry to me now.

If you take this literally, go pump up irony.