We wrote “Chicken Wings” when we were in a pretty loopy mood, as is the usual in our virtual office. We had a pretty loopy week just now, too. Landing our first corporate contract and taking our collaborative energy to the next level: Shiromi wrote a poem that Shiri performed on set for a London Fashion Week showcase. The company we worked with is one of a few selected as this year’s global innovators to the industry. Keep your eyes peeled on our socials around the 10th of June to see the entire thing. Shout out to the Wise Guys for always coming correct with the camera.
Like every month for creatives and freelancers, there’s always a shift happening. In whatever direction. There’s always a new concept to grapple with and master when it comes to co-founding a startup and trust is key to maintaining momentum. So before we take our very well earned two week holiday, enjoy our beautifully ridiculous ode to chicken wings and the greasy chicken shops that line the highstreets of London, our home town.
It is as if they have personalities. I often say I will give you up soon. I will give you up, one day at a time. I will give up everything about you and everything you are to me - that is what can help. I’ll give up the feeling of you on my fingertips, the way I feel you on my skin: between my thumbs and fingers as I hold you close within
Me
Like a neighbourhood cat. Three am meat tendrils sticking out of my teeth, licking up my chops, fried brown puppies clambering around a box. How much do you leave on the bone? I hide away the meat left on because sometimes I’m just not that hungry, damn, stop roasting me, I normally lick them clean I swear! Chicken wings are my favourite thing to eat but I haven’t really been in an alcohol and weed fuelled bender in a while so the chicken shops on my high street haven’t felt my presence in a while (yeah, right)
It is as if they have personalities. And I wonder what will happen when I miss you no more. When I miss not a single thing about you in my day to day life. Then I will know I have let you go. The thought seemed so obscure once upon a time and now, it seems fine. Resolute. Isn’t that the name of that weird online banking app that converts your euros into pounds? The one with terrible security - so a person in bangkok can drain your account overnight or during a spin session and there is shit you can do.
Like a neighbourhood cat. It’s like, a spiritual connection too because loads of the uncles who work in the chicken shops are Pakistani so there have been a few times where I get an extra wing thrown in for free. Like a neighbourhood cat. One time when I was a kid my dad took me to the chicken shop and he was talking to the uncle behind the counter; something about Islam. I wanted to be included so I said “Islam is the best!” And then both men went “Yeah!” and he slammed down an extra chicken wing and a Miranda on the counter and said “keep it up.” Morley’s and the mosque are the same for me. I see the uncles grinding, kids screaming, smearing grease all over the window, chip fryer oil levitating up my nose and aaaaaaah. I’m home. Chomp chomp chomp, any day, any second. We should really honour our bodies when “chicken wings?” floats into our minds and just get the damn wings. I really want some chicken wings. Unpoetically.
It is as if they have personalities. I digress. I think about the way I have a taste for you and how no one has ever compared. How I can never quite deny myself of your memory because there were sweet things about you that made me feel joy, made me feel good - made me feel like your presence is always gonna be validated. And it is then, I realise that you are just a chicken wing. And no ex of mine could ever compare to you. The way I’ve spoken in this passage is entirely for the purpose of glorifying chicken wings and pity be upon the fool, the man, that reads this and thinks this was about him. How dare you see so much self-worth in your obnoxious, disgrace of a life to think I would ever find you inspirational enough to write about you with such joyous love and remembrance?
Like a neighbourhood cat. I want to give them to the cat but they’re so pumped full of hormones that I should probably reserve them for a human, something that can withstand the chemical reactions taking place to create this absolute beauty. My doctor says I should lay off the hot sauce before it desecrates my insides. Imagine hot sauce being your downfall. I’d be so mad. So you’re telling me I could have gone on how many more bingey benders? God damn it. The chicken shop doesn’t correct my grammar or make sarcastic suggestions to “improve brevity” or whatever the fuck is going on in this app right now.
It is as if they have personalities. I cough into the microphone and I remember more things; the fact I am muted being one. I remember when a person thought their lazy and shallowly empty contribution was enough to deem themselves worthy of being beside me - again this is not about a lover - this is a dedication to all the “creatives” out there. We’re all so in love with being recognised as a creator and master - yet the majority of us are terrible excuses of boring wrapped in a tin foil sheet of arrogance.
Like a neighbourhood cat. Agh, the oil is so scary. We never had a deep fryer at home (who does?) so technically all the samosas, chicken wings, pakoras, and dough balls were shallow fried, scaring the crap out of me whenever I walk past, hissing and spitting a menacing tune. The guys have so many burn marks on their arms. So did my friends who worked at McDonalds. Takes the bad guy edge off a bit. But begs a question around protective gear, or something. I see so many of these injuries on brown skin, that when I see them on white skin it evokes a more visceral reaction. I guess I’m just more used to seeing brown skin burned and hurt, like it’s just part of the existence. Like in Pakistan, taking a trip around the city so you can be taught a lesson in “look at how good you have it, you have both of your arms, and that’s thanks to god.”
It is as if they have personalities. The chicken wing is not better than you and is not better than I am to you and your memory of how it used to be. I scream into the air around me, it doesn’t ask to hold me and yet it does. It is so beautiful to think that air literally gives no permission: we scream and shout into it and it is its rightful burden to carry it to wherever it will receive it. It is automatic.
Like a neighbourhood cat. But how did we go from chicken wings to god?! If we take sufi mysticism where god is within us, within everything we consume, then I mean technically….. Technically we do not engage in blaspheme! So we’ve been blessed with all these halal chicken shops to eat our guilt free, halal, hormone injected, battery farm chickens. Rule Britannia.
It is as if they have personalities. Who decided a chicken’s life was worth so little? I raise 4 chickens on a game I play on a console I own. My chickens are very sweet, they run outside immediately when I open the door for them and they do not hesitate to eat the fresh grass in front of me. It is as if they have personalities. Souls. Little wonderful souls that make this chicken cheeky, that chicken cheerful and the other chicken chilly. The fourth chicken is so happy - she must be my daughter in an alternative universe where the qualities of a game simulated chicken can merge with human consciousness. My chickens have names. They are called: Sloth, Grandiose, Olivia Pope and I honestly cannot remember the fourth one off the top of my head. Sorry. And I think, good that they are stuck inside this game that I play on a console I own. I would hate for them to see me order this KFC on discount. [update 15 minutes later: I remember the name of the fourth Chicken. Her name is Reebok.]
Like a neighbourhood cat. Try this out: slaughter and pluck your chicken from the back garden, disembowel it, cut it up into little pieces, wash it thoroughly with water and lemon juice, leave it to marinate in the fridge overnight (see instructions for marinade), coat it with a special spicy breadcrumb recipe, deep fry in your personal deep fryer 3000, and enjoy. Now wasn’t that so much simpler?
Treat yourself to some lovely greasy food, guys, you have (probably) earned it,
See you in two weeks,
S. x