It seems as we all race toward our individual and assorted personal demises, that our species is fast forgetting the collective "why".
As the saying goes, each "earns his bread by the sweat his brow", and through that sweat the bulk of the carbohydrates from previous meals are spent on the perpetual processes of life, to make more bread while associating with those who enjoy the same work and bread. The bread could be literal or figurative, monetary or literary, but the sweat still produces the bread and the people crave each other. The bread is the connective tissue of the spirit, a sacrament of each day's flow.
There are many who still do so, whether by choice or by necessity, but the preponderance of those who would eat bread prefer bonny sweet pastries, prepared by others and paid for by other's sweat, as long as that sweat has no physical contact with the food itself.
The eaters would sit, on velvet cushions, babbling about fluff and fashion, carried there and back by the latest conveyances with all available conveniences.
No wonder we're so fat and bored. We're avoiding the real reasons to eat.
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