i've got nothin', neighbors.
what happens when being a hermit meshes perfectly
with being under the weather?
or at least, not enough to report on.
i woke up at the crack of pre-dawn,
to the grey light of a sun that hadn't bothered to arrive yet.
so what do we do when there's nothing to do?
we get busy on that baking business.
the procedural inventiveness that soothes the savage stormswept beastliness.
the improvisational itemization of ingredients that calms the raging unrest
with the hot and fiery cast iron furnace of furious fretting
that heat the barbarian boiler inside my chest.
the one that pressurizes the pulse points inside my heart,
and keeps it pumping lava and acid and vitriol and bile;
a steady stalwart flow of ire and ichor and insipid innuendo;
an overflow of turbulent, tempestuous, berserker tumult;
and a whole lot of blood, too.
it's a cacophonic cauldron of calamity in there,
threatening to erupt out of my mutha-b!tching skull most of the time.
especially when events and circumstances are all aligned and designed
to unravel and unhinge my carefully calibrated cadences.
there's a rhythm to my ability to reason,
and it's balanced on a fault line.
or more accurately an it's-all-my-fault line of fire.
where were we?
rise, shine, and mix, and stir and sh!t...
i made muffins, kids.
check the teleport:
graham crackery oatmeal cinnamon chocolate chip muffins,
baked up xxxtra-large in the big pan, y'all.
they're dark. they're brooding, they've got blacker bits and brutal bran.
and they're F*ing delicious.
that's all it takes to remove the frown from my flippin' face.
it doesn't make me less busted,
just more satisfied with my talents.
that's what we need;
never quiet, never soft.....