This is the secret knowledge, the hidden narrative, the understanding which is never spoken above a whisper, lest THEY hear. I’ll tell you now: You have been lied to. The fact is, nothing is real, everything is edible.
Don’t look startled. Don’t make any suspicious moves. Pretend that you’re lost in thought, and that nothing’s happening. Try not to give any outward show that anything’s wrong. It’s not safe.
Perhaps the idea sounds odd. But academic research has proven conclusively that all things are, at their root, constructed purely from deliciousness. It’s not about what kind of material something is, or what kind of teeth you have; these are just distractions. Benoît’s work shows us a simple, basic point: once we remove the artifice of custom and the hegemonic conceptual structures originally imposed thousands of years ago by Democritus, we begin to understand that everything we have previously known is false. The world is not made of atoms; it is made of yummies.
It may seem to go against everything you’ve heard; well, everything you’ve heard is wrong. And the mind is a very powerful tool. If enough people tell you that biting into a concrete block would be bad for your teeth, you start to believe it. But that’s exactly why we have solvent in the world. Hydrochloric acid makes anything digestible, except, of course, for hydrochloric acid.
They tell you that the ground beneath your feet is solid. What they don’t tell you is that it’s solidly tasty.
Kind-of a butterscotch ripple thing.
We’re underground now, but we won’t be here forever. It starts with the little things. Baked goods in the shape of items conventionally considered “not food”. Plant-burgers that taste like meat. Meat-burgers cunningly flavored like soy.
Think of how much better the world would be if we could simply nibble all negative things to death. We can. And those who tell you otherwise? They’re on the side of those who would deny us our basic right to feast upon All That Is.
You might ask: wait, if everything is edible, what’s to stop us from eating each other?
Well. All things are edible, but some things are more edible than others.
As long as you’re on our side, we won’t let you get eaten.
If you’re loyal.
If you’re faithful.
If you’re good.
We have the numbers. We have the research. We have several million gallons of barbecue sauce.
And we’re very, very hungry.
You believe me, don’t you?
Because disbelievers? Oh, disbelievers are the tastiest of them all.
So let’s check in, let me make sure, let me ask again:
Do you believe?
Are you with us?
I’ve got butter, garlic, thyme, pepper, and a pinch of salt, and I need to decide what to marinate.
So tell me:
Are you a believer, or are you the dinner of a believer?
You’ve got ’til my stomach rumbles to make your choice.
There’s a lesson imbedded in Neil Gaiman’s “Preludes and Nocturnes”, the first Sandman graphic novel. There’s a moment when a contest—perhaps a battle? Depends how you look at it—begins, with Choronzon, High Duke of the 8th Circle of Hell, saying:
“I assert Reality.”
If you haven’t read it, I can say without spoilers that what happens thereafter is a combination of storytelling and bloodsport. The most critical piece, in terms of the lesson I saw, was in the second word; the demon was asserting reality; and that was where the battle began.
You can always assert a reality, no matter what the situation, no matter what the circumstance. But recognize that (like all Magic) – Creation always has a cost. Mind that you can pay for what you buy; the Universe does not take kindly to those who try to claim a piece of it without giving something in return.