richly appointed and luxuriously decadent,
crunchy and crumbly,
chocolate banana creme pie!!!!
teleport:
wooohooooo!
neighbors,
i made that.
and it's F*ing good.
tofu-less creme pie is practically the same as tofu-full creme pie,
just without the....well, c'mon.
you get it.
3 bananas,
half a cup of tapioca,
a quarter cup of almond milk,
vanilla,
a punch confectioners sugar,
and a sh!tload of melted chocolate chips.
all at once, all in the same place,
all contributing to some serious hottness for my face.
duders,
the crust!
graham craxxx, and a few chocolate craxxx, and coconut!!!!
plus, a little cocoa to activate any latent deliciousnes that might've
been sleepin' deep within the crumbs.
that's all fine and good-
the powerful choco-nana tastes rippling outward into infinity from
the center of a pureed pan of softness is definitely expert,
and the crust is buttery in all the right places-
but,
i didn't stop there.
i mean, obviously, i couldn't:
rules is rules,
and too much is the right amount.
which naturally meant i HAD to take it to eleven,
to do so i doubled down on custom cocoa and vanilla frosting swirls,
but,
that really happened only after i drizzled a lattice of darkness,
ganache-style across the surface.
i doo-doo that freaky sh!t, friends,
because i want to produce baked beautiful battle-beastliness in abundance.
*
food is a purer expression of my true self.
the question i keep asking myself is:
can i really as big a dastardly bastard-A* sunovab!tch
as i keep hearing secondhand accounts of my first-person narratives making me out to be,
and still seek to create and enjoy true beauty in the wider world around me?
i'm just saying,
would a really sucky person get so intimately attached to the processes of producing
nourishment for all the senses and cells of himself and others?
i hang out in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
and i do what i do.
they say the company you keep affects the person you become-
i keep to myself,
and as a result of that recirculated introspection,
i think i've triple-distilled the essence of reclusive warrior poetry
down to a hyper-concentrated solution
that seems to cause more wounds than it salves,
and creates more problems than it solves.
ha.
so,
if i'm not cloyingly nice,
adding superfluously flattering adjectives onto unearned compliments,
does that actually make me indirectly mean,
or just maintaining the integrity of steadfast honesty;
the absence of unearned accolades isn't the same as a personal attack, is it?
real talk is what i speak,
and truth telling is what i do.
whether you regard it as earnest, or elitist,
honest-to-goodness presentation is how i speak.
every descriptor is warranted.
and that's no joke.
good is good,
and bad is everything else.
the idea that middling, meek, and minky-eyed mealy-mouthed word mincing
is the same or better than meting out merit-based commendations?
i just can't hang out with that.
prevarication is for suckers,
and glutting up the world with value added in where it doesn't actually exist
cheapens the worth of true expressions of gratitude, generosity,
and the professional appreciation of genuinely good things.
if everything is always the prettiest, sparkliest, and nicest,
then actually, nothing is.
it can't all be superlative,
and accepting average as amazing removes the need to take anything any further.
guys,
that's not me.
i'm making pretty food;
i'm sketching tiny arts;
i'm telling true stories with all my heart;
it's ALL really happening,
and i'm searching for answers.
am i just ugly?
or am i also dope?
it doesn't do anybody any good not to check in on that one every so often;
never quiet, never soft.....
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