Sitting in an artist’s apartment eating Pho noodles with those funky (Yeah they literally are, funky: as in the old school Black inflected Ameri-speak that connoted an odor/taste that partook of particulate matter in the air generated by past body odors generated by different body parts unwashed and bodily fluids not completely rinsed off and left to molder in a room, an apartment, a car, on a person or items of clothing. A smell. Earthy, the natural left-over effluvia of lives lived close. The smells of human life and activities. Real. Funky.), little corncobs that seem to appear only in Asian food mixtures. This was a rice noodle Pho with some weak broth and few veggies including those little corn cobs. They, funky small corncobs, will fuck up a nice little noodle stew or any other dish. What’s up with those little corn cobs?
I say don’t shrink corn! It makes it funky. I’m sorry, but funk has no place in a soup. Period.
Anyway, in the conversation I was mentioning that during a previous days discussion I was having with someone else about some aspects of Buddhism, that person had asked a very good question; and the young artist I was sharing noodles with, asked, “What’s a good question?”
What a good question.
Turns out I have no answer that’s actually worth noting, but I’m gonna, because all good questions end in nowhere. A good question can either be answered yes or no: or, they provoke such a flurry of mental stimulation that no conclusion worthy of the name is ever reached. A good question begets more questions.
Before I digress, I just want to say that…(many hours pass)…Little corn cobs should be outlawed, or at least be a controlled substance out of reach of the hands of those who don’t know Funk does not belong in soup.
It ain’t right.
Then again, who am I to judge those little corncobs? Don’t they have Buddha Nature too?
The questions are proliferating like little corncobs. And that ain’t right neither.