#baking bread is also just. i am creating the universal base of human existence my power is indescribable | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jollyviscreal666 · 4 years

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The Chef

I had refrained from entering the formulas to the CIA operatives and sending them out. I knew that there would be no suitable outcomes prior to a transaction such as this. Sure they could threaten me, charge me with international fraud and national product alteration. They could do so many more things more powerful, but they won’t. Not when I have the recipes. They are currently hidden, and only I know their whereabouts. It makes them so frustrated, but they have to play my game if they ever want my formulas and recipes. They will play. I know they will. There is no other way. I made sure of it.

Let’s take a gander at some of my backstory. I am Keith Benson, and I am a chef. I have more than just talent when it comes to cooking. I AM cooking talent, if you will. Most prefer to just simply say ‘best cook in the world’. I hate to boast, but there are no faults in that fact. Plain and simple.

When I prepare a meal, the sweltering sound of the pan leaves customers’ mouths watering in agonizing anticipation. They are salves to the presence of my cooking, and that’s only the sound. Imagine what goes through their heads when the aroma of my preparations enters their nostrils. The essence of ecstasy is immensely immersive when it comes to my preparations, and that’s only the preparation. Stage 1 if you will. Stage 2 is when the plate is placed in front of the guests or patrons. It’s that good. Everyone said so. I’ve never met anyone who said different.

One can only imagine what goes through the mind of the individuals who now are only moments away from satisfying the agony. It’s almost as if a layer of ecstasy has been ceased as it had existed. I’m only speaking from experience based on the input of former patrons and costumers. Stage 3 is the best by far. The accounts vary by person. There is nothing more I love than pleasing those who wish to have their stomach filled. The customers are the bread and butter. That is why I do everything to utilize my talents fully. There’s no feeling in the world better than watching someone fall in love with your very own dish.

I became very famous. Everyone wanted a bite. They’d pay hundreds for a full dish. No joke. I felt like my life was just a huge glop of ecstasy. Nothing ever slowed down. My rates were always high and I was very admired in the community. Everywhere I went, people followed. I became sort of a celebrity. I’ve been cooking ever since I was 8 years old. I realized about 2 years later that it was what I wanted to do in life. From then on, nothing but recipe after recipe, combinations after combinations, collaboration against collaboration.

When I was 13, I made my first cake from scratch. Surprisingly in an unlikely manner, my family fell in love with it. They commented on how accurate I was with the texture and flavor inputs of the cake when I set it all up. How could I forget that? It’s one of my greatest memories. I entered contests throughout junior high, and I won ¾. People were impressed.

I decided to buckle down and pursue my passion. I used the same idea, but based it on other foods. Most were successful at first. People thought I was talented at first, but they didn’t see me do equations and measurements accordingly with my baking and cooking tools. From there I met a famous chef who shared his secrets with me. This was after I graduated from college. He was French. At that point, I’d had baked, broiled, and fried over 1 million food meals. From there, I used my natural talent, and created my own recipes to food using what I’ve learned from master chefs, TO become THE master chef. Implying I’ve also had my own tricks as well.

Life was as I perceived it would be prior to my success. Unfortunately, that didn’t last very long. Everything took a turn when suddenly I realized I’ve been cooking up and baking the same ingredient combinations for the past 10 years. I’ve tried everything. I perfected everything. Regarding meat, the most famously known, essential food condiment, I’ve tried literally everything. Everything from hippo meat to indigenous African beetle meat. Hey, being the world’s master chef has its quantities. Even dog and cat meat.

That’s when the thought crossed my mind. I’ve never tried human meat. I’ve actually never tried human meat. It can’t be that bad. You can’t judge until you try it. For some unknown reason, I was particularly excited about the idea. Maybe it’s because I was somewhat depressed and I needed something new to fill my desires. Having nowhere to try it, nor no one to participate, I cut off my own finger. It was my first finger next to my thumb on my left hand. It hurt like hell but it was well worth it.

It was incredibly delicious for some reason, and all I did was fry it and broil it. The flesh was easy to peel off and the meat itself was freshly done. I consumed it and made the decision to adjoin the meat alongside my other famous recipe inventions. It increased the flavor of many of my swilling recipes. I added what I knew would make the best difference. I knew that human parts are actually good candidates for texture accumulation alongside flavor enhancers. I knew I could always take it a step ahead and the essence of the human larder could be used to enhance everything edible. Including the essence of my welfare prior to my soul in the universe.

I was once again filled with happiness and hope, believing I’ve found what I was missing in my life. Excitedly, I called two of the most prolific critiques in the food industry. They too showed moods of enthusiasm. Perhaps they longed for another one of my dishes. Well I had something for them, alright. I must refrain from telling you how I’d prepared these amazing meals. They’re watching me closely. All I can say is, I was in the mood to make quite an impression and I didn’t have a whole lot of time to do it. I cut my whole left hand off. I wasn’t prepared for the pain, almost impossible to block out no matter how many times I implied to myself that it was for a good cause. I had six hours to prepare the meal.

The procedure made me pass out twice, but I held my ground. I drilled a hole in the wall and inserted two inputs that connected to large looped bolts where I tied the thick Indian ropes. I connected them to other smaller bolts after inserting the smaller bolts into the large sturdy ropes. I tied the thinner smaller but more powerful ropes around my ankles, very tightly. I knew I was going to have to use a heated saw to cut it off, but I thought I could easily handle it after what I was about to do.

I drilled four more smaller holes to put a metal restraint with metal straps to hold down my arm. I had nothing to use but a premium butcher knife to cut my hand off. I put a spoon in my mouth to bite down when the pain started. 8 efficiently executed slashes in, the tip of the spoon was separated from the rest of the body. It hurt that bad. I looked for something else to bite down on immediately. I almost used my other arm. The head of the spoon was swallowed. I took no notice in it whatsoever. I still don’t know how I managed, but I just fainted a couple of seconds after my struggle.

The amount of blood spilled on the floor was apparently incredible, looking back on it. I woke up in a haze. Nearly a minute later, my pain receptors turned on again. I wailed in agony. I wanted to quit. I stood there for an hour hesitant to what my final decision would be. What I really wanted was to pass out again. So I luckily found another spare butcher knife (not as big as the one I was using) and used the handle to bite down on.

I resumed my task. I just focused on slicing through as hard and efficiently as possible. I tried so hard. I tried so hard to avoid coming to a stop. I had sweat covering me. I almost got in 5 slices. Almost. I passed out at the end of the fourth. This time for 4 hours instead of 2.

Realizing I only had about 30 minutes, I decided to quit. I needed to get to the hospital. I felt incredibly weak, as if something had drained all my body’s life support. I had overestimated myself. I dialed 911 and called for an ambulance. I told them my arm had gotten stuck in the mechanical absorbing meat grinding flattener. I quickly decided to put my nearly detached hand in the receiving area of the machine. 8 more slices would’ve done it. I had to drill holes and do the powerful rope attaching deal, but it worked out. I thought I’d lost so much blood there was none left. I was wrong. I believe the machine even took some of my skin above where I’d jammed the blade, about 4 inches.

I was taken to the hospital. I hid my hand in the freezer room. I was given a mechanical robotic prosthetic hand thanks to my income. I prepared the meal using the meat flattener/grinder. Then I used my special combinations which made the meat so much better. I named the dish “La Vaggia Della eta” because of its Italian style. I served it with my famous buttered fettuccine. Of course they fell in love and mentioned that I’d never failed to amaze them. They said it was the best meal they’ve ever tasted, no less by my hands!

I added my other famous meat recipes, but the most important ingredient to my success was the human meat. It gave it that special texture-like taste that you’d always swear you taste in a variation of a product, but to a much bigger scale!

I took to hiring hitmen on the deep web to kill random individuals I became acquainted with, and bring them to me. I prepared the meals monthly, then weekly, and finally, daily. I experimented with every organ, every tissue layer of the human anatomy. People were impressed that I could whip up such successful meals after so many years of the same stuff. And the best part was, it was good!! I went from millionaire to billionaire.

I even established my own corporation. I was head of it, of course. We sold nearly 8.9 billion products. Critics claimed that the products should be given the same respect and treatment as coca-cola itself. It was that good. I had 8 years of success and joy. Then came the final chapter of my life.

The elite health inspectors and chefs couldn’t help but to go digging. They loved my new dishes and products, but they needed to know how the hell I’d made it so good to get where I was now. Everything that good has to be discovered . I just wish they’d found out later. They hired a couple of scientists supposedly who worked for the FDA. It took them 4 months to find out what my special ingredient was. They were too busy eating my dishes on break rather than focusing full time on their study. They eventually found traces of skin cells and human gene extract in my products.

I can only imagine what went through their heads. I’m not as crazy as you think. When you think about it, the idea of delicacies is to indulge oneself by survival standards in the most comfortable way possible. If you need something in a dire situation (in my case sentimentally personal) then you have every right to try to hone it.

Before they officially took me to prison, I told them that my recipes could not be used without the human meat. They demanded the locations to avoid them getting into the wrong hands. I denied them the locations. I’d truthfully swallowed the bottle containing the recipes.

They also needed the recipes to put on record to sentence and condemn me. They needed evidence according to law. So I forced them to play my sick game. I had bottles with substitute recipes. I made the floor slippery with large amounts of canola oil. After spotting it, in frantic haste they ran to claim it. It was taped to the meat flattener/grinder. Of course the one in front slipped and his hand got caught in it. It began to suck him in. While being inserted into the machine, he managed to rip the taped recipe from the machine. The other FBI officer took it. He didn’t even bother to look at his partner as he became hamburger meat and flattened.

They threatened to torture me once more agents arrived. I was forced to tell them that I’d swallowed the actual recipes. They gave me the death penalty. Death by lethal injection. What a surprise. 2 months before my supposed death date, I requested one final meal. Myself. The authorities, not caring one way or the other, decided to grant my request, thanks to those who supported me 9-25 years ago. I’m scheduled for lethal injection in 2 days. Better get to work. Haven’t eaten in weeks. Have a good life. And as always, bon apetit.

Police notes: Clearly mentally insane, the subject’s last request was granted. Surprisingly, agents Ross and Foster stuck around to see him bleed out. According to them, they were surprised as to how long he’d lasted prior to his self mutilation. According to them, a small incision was made to reach his internal organs without bleeding out completely. The managed to amputate and consume his limbs in a matter of days. The most surprising, yet most disturbing of all was the absence of his eyes along with the smile on his corpse.

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mx-liz · 5 years

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I have a great deal of pity for the people who don’t feel like I do.

Waking in bed, on a warm spring morning. The first thing felt is the warmth of the sun shining through the window and the subtle softness of the mattress. The window was left open, and there is a faint breeze wafting through the bedroom. It’s a cold breeze, but when attention is given to it, one can feel warm energy, almost as if the wind itself is alive and carries with it a spirit. It brings with it sweetness, and if smells could have color this one would be of purples and crisp violets, cream-colored whites and soft beige. The lilac bushes in the neighborhood are in bloom. As the sweetness brushes against your cheek, it is easy to feel the moisture in the air, a sign of earlier rain. There are musky undertones of dirt and earth, dark hues of shrubbery and dense chlorophyll. As the attention drifts aside, the warmth of a companion can be felt opposite your blanket. A cat or a dog, reliant on your compassion and giving endlessly of their affection, breathing slowly beside you.

These are all details, bits and pieces of the world around me that I can feel before I even open my eyes. All around us, the world is telling us to “stop and smell the roses!” all while we pace back and forth endlessly, staring down at a phone or at a computer. I’ve always found the saying to feel empty. It’s more than a smell. Do you see them? Feel them? Taste? Where is the experience? The roses in your life, the fragments of beauty in nature or human creation all around you, when did you last really see them?

Finally dragging myself out of bed, I feel the subtle feeling of rest leaving my body. I walk – barefoot – outside to the garden. The grass scratches against the soles of my feet, and up to my ankles. It reminds me that it desires a trim. The dirt is wet from rain, and cold to touch. The sun stops shining on it, but it doesn’t bother me. The sky may be gray today, but it won’t last long. With each footstep, the earth finds its way up into my entire being. My bare feet connect with the ground that has existed here far longer than I could ever dream. It carries the dust and ash of life that has been long forgotten. People and creatures that have gone before me, as I slowly meander out to my strawberry patch. If you let it, the earth will share its secrets with you. The wind will whisper the stories. The life that the world, that society so desperately tries to take away from you will be returned to you tenfold.

The strawberry patch is in bloom. Clean, bright white flowers are scattered everywhere. The trees above drip with bits of rain that haven’t yet reached the ground. Where has that water been, and where is it going? It could be from rivers, lakes, or oceans far away. Perhaps it once sustained the life of our ancestors. Was it a tear or sweat, then purified for the satisfaction of the berry plants? The water that will now nourish my garden could have traveled hundreds of thousands, millions of miles, just for this simple cause. The garden will soon feed me and many others. Surely the rabbits will find some berries first. The squirrels and mice and birds may also feast upon them. I might get one or two before they’re gone. The fruit will surely be shared with friends and family. And just think, it was all nourished by a drop of water that crossed the globe for that very purpose.

The iris flowers are in bloom. Simple golds and pale yellow, mimicking the star that creates the day. When you watch closely, an ant may find its way into the bud to find a drink of water. The petals have their own “veins” that dance and find their way through, carrying sustenance and color and an elusive and delicate sweetness. It’s fronds dance with the breeze, choreographing their own intricate dance that can never be quite replicated. Their silky greens and silvers intermingling with the colors on the breeze – the yellows, orange and reds of the sun trying to shine, the purples and hint of lilacs, the chill of rain and the warmth of life. Can you feel it yet?

On the stove, a meal sizzles away. French toast, to be precise. A simple meal, with much that goes unappreciated. Eggs with dark golden, deep yolks that are nearly orange. The thick and creamy, savory yolks. Mix them with some vanilla, the sweetness, and bitterness of vanilla. Spicy cinnamon, earthy nutmeg, and delicately sweet sugar. Milk, rich and creamy, cold and refreshing. Whisk it all together and soak a couple slices of bread in it. It turns a dark brown as it absorbs the mixture. Think of the hours it took to make that bread. All the kneading, the waiting, the rising, the baking, the perfect mixture of ingredients coming together to make a base for a meal. Butter in the pan – the milking, the churning, the waiting, the cooling, hints of salt – sizzling. In goes the soaked bread. Frying. Mingling. Browning. Flip. Do it again. Cover with maple syrup. The tapping, filtering, bottling, pure sweetness from a tree (where did the water come from?) A simple meal, not so simple anymore. Deliciously feeding my body and soul.

To feel like this is part of who I am as a person. Not everyone is as blessed as I am to be able to observe, to be able to see like I can. The intricacies of everyday life go unnoticed by most. The little things, the details, I see them. I feel them down into the depths of my soul. They are a part of who I am. I consider myself one with the earth, with the spirit and energy of the things around me. My core resonates with them. I feel as if my very being goes unnoticed by the world, as the world goes by unnoticed by most. My identity as a nonbinary person reaches into this notion. There is so much more to the world than what society places value on. There is so much to connect to, to be able to feel and feel with. I am not simply defined because I am not simple. I am a part of the vastness of our universe. I am a part of the stars, the dust, the lilacs, the dirt. And you, my dear reader – are too. Pay attention.

#text post #ramble #descriptive

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