The fanzine culinary imagination ... Tasty!
To give you an idea, here's a text from the No. 9. The numbers are downloadable.
Marmite & Microwave # 9
Born in 1978, Joan Charmant is studying computer science, and is interested in artificial intelligence and games
videos. He is fascinated by science-fiction hard science ... and the Rubik's Cubes. The following is his first publication.
o EAT, IT'S GROWING! - Joan Charmant o
- Dad! Soup! She says hello!
This kid is terrible. I bowl to buy noodles alphabets, and all he found to do is have fun with. Finally! If this is the only way he eats ...
- Dad! Come see.
- Sylvain ...
- Come see!
It is on the other side of the table. I get up. Indeed, he reorganized the letters to form the word 'hello'. Since he was five and he is still learning to write, I decide that it's pretty good.
- Good, Sylvain. Now eat them. They will be other words in your belly.
I sit back. I'm sick of soup and pasta, but I have to finish if he will not eat rien.Je unsheathed my spoon.
not eat us!
Huh?
I stir my soup, I wave, I stirs ... Slowly, as the whirlwind slows, letters come together, others move away. THANK
Then, slowly, pasta that were on the verge begin to navigate towards the center. The plate becomes a chaos of small beige yellow letters. I put down my spoon. He wished
S PLEASE
I start panic. I want to eat half a dozen, just to see, but I retiens.Point positive, Sylvain guzzler as if nothing had happened. Doubt takes me: is he trying to commit genocide?
I lean back on my plate. Can I contact them? I try to organize the letters, I go back to drowning, I float sorts. I can make. Anyway, I was always bad at Scrabble. I do my best, and three minutes and a few puddles on the web later, I managed to form a sentence:
How is it possible
Nothing happens. Have I killed? I ressere, I do not have enough letters to keep a coherent discourse. I need numbers as well, where are they?
In the meantime, I try to enjoy spoonfuls empty to avoid attracting the attention of gamin.Si it never surprises me now to have fun with that is the fin.Je begins to speculate on the phenomenon. Pasta
they would open to consciousness? Unlikely.
Is this evolutionary event? Combining the pasta into words would be less likely to be eaten, since they intrigue us? This does not explain these precise words, a appropriateness more than providential. And the pasta are not living things. Anyway, they should have died in cooking. So what?
's it, the miracle resurfaced. Groups form, mix, organize. An answer?
cE is not possible
gets better and better ... Sylvain has finished his plate, he takes the murderer. Is this a message? A call with an entity stuck somewhere whose only means of communication is the ability to control the spatial organization of pieces of noodles? I prefer not to think about.
I finally get hungry, we will have I commit a sacrifice. A flock of 'e' seems quite reasonable. However, the time to select them, they shrink, hide behind the other, take refuge at fond.Et then what? Starting to warm myself, those ... I remember from the fish by hand, not to give ideas to small. I see myself dipping their fingers in the soup ... I really wanted. They are still moving.
NASTY
I'm suffocating. Who makes the law here? Sylvain
stares. He must have noticed that I looked, my nose is ready to smelling. I look, I smiled my best. I look dumb.
- Did you finish your soup? Especially
to change the subject I ask him. Before he has time to talk.
- What are you doing, Dad?
Lost. I'm going to be hard on the canard. Especially do not give any justification for its next game food idiot.
- I ... Do not worry, son, I'll explain. You can go for dessert if you do not want it.
(Here I hit a great shot. The dessert was the main motivation for coming to the table, with mouth-watering chocolate ice cream bars.)
I return to my alphabet soup. They seem more numerous on the surface. The 'i' are put together. I expect a message. I do not know why but I feel it will be a revelation. An official communique.
yes' panzani
I am really tired of all these pubs.Je a timber while it glup.
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