what do you know about a weeklong proofin' time
on the last of the sourdough pizza portions?
i didn't know about that, either-
...until last night.
i had it in the fridge,
chilling itself into a verrry relaxed freeform state of being.
now, there was a symbolic balance to be had here,
as i was the exact opposite of freeform and relaxed.
the afternoons, in between dog walks and dinnertimes,
are total bullsh!t.
i did some tattooing,
and i even did some personally rewarding drawing (since tattooing was in short supply)
i caught a little up-here 'itis.
i've got a throaty throatin' esophageal something-or-other,
and i've been barking madly,
for a few days now.
it's loud and hard, definitely;
but in no way does it rep a fresh to death style.
i don't like even mild inconveniences,
so this hacking attack on my chest, post werewolfen full-moon comedown,
has really got me grumpin' around like a surly sourpuss.
i HATE it.
the most perfectly compatible companion to a sourpuss is sourdough.
and that dough, tho.
one week of strengthening it's cultural ties to actively cultured yeasts an' that,
and i had myself a fully-developed round, waiting to get flattened out.
that's the thing about the sourdough, neighbors-
it's stretchy, and it's strong,
but you've gotta patty-hand push and press it into a pan, kiddos-
because it gets thin and delicate almost immediately.
the gluten strands are so unstressed and well-developed
that it goes from a ball out to a big circle real F*ing quick.
if you're not careful, it'll blow out along the semolina grains.
and nobody likes a hole in their pizza,
unless they're a flippin' 'hole.
i drew pictures and i coughed a lot,
and then i got home and coughed a lot and made pizza.
check the teleport:
i guess we gotta call this one a flatbread?
no tomatoes, and no chee' means it's certainly NOT traditional,
and those toppings aren't helping much to convince me otherwise.
the cracked black pepper, adhered to the crispy edges with garlic oil?
there's sesame-seeded hummus on the bottom,
and arugula, and caramelized sweet onion,
plus chick peas,
and tempeh bacon bits,
not to mention sliced grape tomatoes,
and in an inspired twist, actual F*ing halved seedless grapes.
that's that nouveau sh!t, my friends.
i hit it with the fried garlic sprankles, obvi;
because rules is rules,
just to pump up the jams, and turn up this jaun to eleven,
there're a few scallion spranx as well,
to give it a little zipzap of the hottness you get from knowing at a cellular level
that too much is the right amount.
other than the onions and garlic,
everything else was just raw and uncut,
ol' dirty pizza style,
and got the heat blast solely from the fuego in the oven.
quick as a bunny,
october is more than half over.
just like *that*.
it seems like it sure went past awfully fast.
every day, i'm grinding, and i'm lookin' for a come up,
but all i'm catching is a let down.
the season and the scene are both on the waning end of light into dark,
and that's no joke:
these pizzas are good (but the certainty of what's for dinner isn't);
the trip i'll be taking to connecticut for a few days
is probably going to be good(ish);
making art is good (when there's ten seconds worth of spare time to do it);
crabtree is good (at being the worst);
all these things are happening,
and there seems to be more along those lines,
parenthetical caveats and catches,
other shoes dropping,
and waiting for what's next,
while What Is takes forever to end
yet elapses and eclipses everything in-between before you're even aware of it.
forever and never,
over and out,
inside and upside my head,
these days are prisoners,
and these nights are jailbreaks;
never quiet, never soft.....