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A stream of coconut consciousness
How many knives have you broken? I've been lucky. Or cautious. My knives have tiny coconut-induced notches in them but they remain usable. Other friends haven't been so lucky. Their knives remain in tatters but their bellies and chakras are happy, and I guess that's what matters the most.
And nails. How many nails have you broken? I've done quite a few, but like everything in nature, our bodies renew and give us more nails. Shows that knifes don't belong here. They don't renew. I do wonder about coconuts. How to get the liquid in the wild. In "Castaway" Tom Hanks throws coconuts against a rock to get the meat out. But what about the water? That's where the real love is. Every tropical island film should have its own coconut expert to make it more authentic. I'd volunteer.
When I see a whole green coconut, I revel in its beauty. It's like its own fridge, with all that insulation. When I see them chopped up like white diamonds and wrapped in plastic I feel quite sorry for them. With me eating them they won't live to fulfil their potential to make another palm, but at least you can't eat hundreds of them at a time, like you can nuts and seeds. I'm sure the karmic impact is less. I hope. I don't know if I can go through another lifetime. Coconuts have a beautiful taste, it's cheaper by volume than a can of fizzy cola, and it's so alive it makes you buzz. It actually gives me buzzes on my buzzes! And when it's a rainy day in England, there's no better feeling than drinking some of the tropics. It makes me want to wear a pineapple shirt and shake my maracas. It turns the grey sky blue, or maybe it just makes the colour from my irises run into my pupils.
I'd like to drink a coconut a day, and if someone starts a mail order business in this country selling them, I'll be their first and best customer. My body knows this is good for me. Coconuts Anonymous may be a support group of the future. Jack and Marla would fight over who was going to that one, while I slipped down Paper Street to see if there are any coconut chemicals in that shaky flaky house.
In the night, before getting tucked up with my monkey and my hottie bottie, I'd sniff the coconut I was going to eat for breakfast. That slightly chocolaty smell, the inviting wetness, a faint musky and seductive odour which makes me wonder if I'm on the other bus, that tough outside which entices me into pulling at the hairs, and makes me break yet another nail. That coconut, it makes me dream dreams where I don't want to wake up. Well, I wouldn't want to if I thought the coconut wasn't waiting for me, downstairs, already tantalisingly undressed and begging for it.
A talking coconut
What would one coconut say to another
If it was looking for a special lover?
"Pucker up, baby, just like this
And give me a great big coco-kiss"
What if the coconut pretended not to care
Like the outcome was neither here nor there
"Hey coco-chica, do the hula with me
Then let's hang out all night in my tree"
If I was a coconut, all green and proud
I'd say one thing strong and I'd say it loud
"Fizzy cola, you ain't all that tough
Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough"
When you're next near one of these big green guys
listen with your ears and look with your eyes
Concentrate hard and you'll find out what he thinks
"In this world, baby, I'm the true King Of Drinks" |
