CHRISTIAN HOSOI
Skarfing
Material
with Chef-Boy-Am-I-Hungry
The moment I awake and inhale my first
Gauloise, I can feel the rising tide of angst
buffeting my insides. I open the shades and
attempt to find some solace in the morning
sun, but it only illuminates a segment of the
smoky haze that surrounds me. This block
of wispy white tendrils is no more than a
cigarette by-product, but it symbolizes my
separation from the world that surrounds me.
I'm a square peg, a lonely sentinal of intellec-
tual perception. How can I be a part of a world
where nobody feels the way I do? Poets and
preachers may tout the beautiful aspects of
life, but they don't understand that this
beauty is surpassed by the deep symbolic
significance inherent in all objects and
events. Every dew drop that glistens on the
skin of an apple embodies man's fragile
existence and his desperate cling to the face
of the earth. It is a tear on the cheek of a
forgotten child, a pearl on the smooth chest
of an elegant woman. When someone
remarks on the simple splendor of this dew
drop, he merely represents man's inability to
see past the superficial.
Isip my mocha-java and wonder if my
unique perspective is what causes the tumult
of torment within my soul. It just doesn't make
sense. The fact that I'm more enlightened
than the status quo should be transcen-
dental, not traumatic. Maybe a part of me is
driven to fit in with the rest of the world.
Maybe it's the conflict between this confor
mist vein and my true maverick sensibilities
that makes my stomach churn and my head
feel like it's going to explode. Then again,
it might be all the pent up creative energy
inside of me, pushing and pressing to get out.
I would pour my soul onto paper if only there
was anyone alive who could understand me.
There is so much I want to do, but it all seems
so pointless. Why should I create a meaning-
ful, substantial body of work in a world that
favors appearance over inspiration? No, it's
not worth my time.
I know this isn't a case of existential
neurosis, however. I don't doubt the validity
of my actual existence or the significance of
life itself. In fact, I'm completely at ease with
my identity, but that doesn't change the swirl-
ing, stinging miasma of anxiety that orbits
my consciousness. Or has it ceased orbiting
and become the central aspect of my per-
sonality? Is this
angst the axis of my
whole character, exer-
ting its gravitational pull
on every action in my
life? This is a chilling.
thought, but even if it's
true, there's nothing I
can do about it. Besides,
my formless anguish.
possesses such pure
force it must certainly in-
tensify my artistic inspira-
tion. I snub my last cigarette.
out and open a fresh pack. My
train of thought is hurtling along
now. If inner torment really does fuel
creative impulse (the large amounts
of both qualities present in me would
seem to indicate that this is true), then I
need not worry about the cause of my con-
dition. Still, if I can tap the eye of my intellec-
tual storm, I should be able to produce a
literary magnum opus. This prospect fills me
with excitement until I realize that, no mat-
ter how brilliant my work is, I'm doomed to
be misunderstood by society. My vision is too
deep to be shared, so why even bother ex-
pressing it? Instead, I just order a...
KAFKA LATTE
lots of strong coffee
+1 can sweetened condensed milk
Your coffee should be extra strong to reflect
the bitter nature of humanity and to help fur-
ther agitate the stormy sea of emotion inside
you. Either brew an extra thick batch in your
coffee maker or shovel two huge tablespoons
of instant coffee into a mug. When you've got
a steaming cup-full, add a hefty dose of
sweetened condensed milk. Don't use.
regular milk, it hasn't gone through the same
seclusion and confinement that both con-
densed milk and your mind have. Chug this
down, get a tortuously tedious job as an ac-
countant, ruin your health by staying up every
night and writing till four, then die. (Recipe
-Barry Feldstein, Isla Vista, CA)
CLAM SARTRE
1 can creamed corn
onion, diced
•2 cans clams w/juice
1 pint half and half
1 Tbsp butter
salt n' peppa
Open the clams and corn and put them into
a pot. Or don't. Nobody cares what you do,
you control your own destiny. If you've gone
this far, then fill the corn can halfway with
half-and-half and add it to the mixture. Take
your diced onion and, in a separate pan,
sauté it in the butter till the pieces are all
transparent, just like the empty significance
awarded to our presence here on this lump
of dirt. Now add the onions to the other in-
gredients and cook it all over medium heat.
Stir frequently and make sure you don't let
the mixture boil or the half and half will curdle
like the milk of human kindness on the hot,
lonesome road of real life. Don't share this
with anyone. (Recipe-Skip, Parts Unknown)
The mark you leave on the face of history
might be no more than a blemish, but why
not do it in style with a striking Shark Taco
T-shirt? Just send $10.25 (postage and hand-
ling included) to Thrasher, Shark Taco T-shirt,
PO Box 884570, S.F., CA 94188-4570.
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