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An Introduction to My Mind

My mind grows uncooperative as I age, and I know where I’m going. With my mind being a stew of gumbo roux, I am forced to think of what makes my mind what it is. Is it the fact that my stew is growing? That when I die for the the first time my mind will evolve to become Jambalaya, the most delicious jambalaya that if even a small dribble of that ever so scrumptious jambalaya slips from my minds pot it’ll drive me mad not just from the searing pain of the ever scolding jambalaya that just slipped onto whatever my skull is made of at that point (I hope it’s jell-o), but from the mental anguish of realizing that I’ve just forsaken so many. The French-catholics thrown out of Canada for their noble refusal to sign an oath of allegiance to Britain, I’d be forsaking them as I spill some of their most delightful cajun jambalaya. Maybe it’ll be a creole jambalaya in which case I’d be forsaking the French, African, Spanish, and West-Indies all in one foul swoop. No matter which jambalaya it is, I spill some, I destroy everything.

Or is this Gumbo Roux what it is because of the long line of stews, soups, and slops created before it. I mean, the roux at least is on its own with it being much darker than anything in its gallic roots. Does that mean anything tough? It still takes a massive amount of inspiration yet it’s new. Is it new, did it do anything new besides being dark. Is being a dark liquid/semi-solid any different than being a lighter liquid/semi-solid. Is this possible to answer. It needs to have an answer because without it I’ll never know what makes a gumbo roux a real gumbo roux.

Is it gumbo roux because it will turn into jambalaya and I’ll fail everyone or is it gumbo roux because I don’t know what gumbo roux even ever was or what it came from or what I was.

This gumbo roux is pretty tasty though.

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