residual

I wonder sometimes if the little things I mindlessly do are somehow impacting the life of someone on the other side of the planet. Like, will this discarded plastic cup lead to the imminent demise of a kind shopkeeper in Kyoto? Maybe stepping on these cracks will throw a Chinese man onto the tracks just in time to get slammed by the 5 o'clock train. Simple actions could lead to devastating consequences, and often they do. It's the cancerous nature of existence.

But where is our sensitivity? Did it die out with the Dodo or fade away with the phonograph? If I knew the weight that this plastic cup holds, would I still choose to toss it due to convenience? I do everyday. I empty out what doesn't directly serve me in search of pure pleasure. A syrup. We have evolved into waffles, waiting to be suffocated under the warmth of thick sap. (Your mouth can't even say those words without getting momentarily stuck. Try it.)

So maybe our homemade wings which we think are so delicate desecrate the land that is lost on the map. But it's not our loss. So pass the butter, please. I'm polite and hungry and blind.