Sunday, November 20


i mean, like,
it's pizza, basically,
but it's different.
and i like different, dudes.
for real.
when it comes time to decide if i'm gonna really go for it,
and do some wizardly warrior poetic whippin' up of dinner,
just beat up a big bowlful of beige something instead,
the main factor in my decision is:
will it pizza?
...and when the answer is YES?
i doo-doo that freaky sh!t.
rules is rules,
and if the world wills pizza into creation,
i acquiesce to the world.
i made myself a quartet of smallish circles,
out of my semi-semolina-sourdough dopeness,
and i have to say-
they were F*ing expert.
that's no joke.
hand-tossed thinny-thin-thin-crust jauns,
coated with sesame-seeded hummus,
and caramelized onions,
and tempeh bacon bits,
and fire-roasted tomato flakes, and molto molto black peps,
and a new thing in the world of Folk Life & Libertarian hottness-
sriracha pepper sprankles!
and that wasn't even all of it,
but it was the base foundation for some very manly mesomediterranean magic.
check the flattie-boom-battie-type teleport:

those little circles were very dope all on their own-
the crusts were super crisp,
but the centers were super soft,
as the hummus held it down, and fluffed it up,
alongside those epic flavors on the surface.
the thing is,
any old average biscuit-head would've be happy to have those just like that-
but we're well above average, aren't we?
don't be dumb, neighbors.
we want the big deluxxxe, we want the big action,
we want MORE.
i know.
so i added color and texture and flavor, in abundance,
straight to the top of each one.
too much is the right amount.
for realsies.
so i set myself up with a litttle somethin' extra.
i needed that freshie-fresh, son!
a salad of purple cabbage, arugula, english cucumber,
red sweet pepper rings, cilantro, scallion,
and orange grape tomatoes!
i had a rainbow of awesome tossed over each and every disc of deliciousness.
um, yeah.
i did that.
i tuned up all four in record time, too.
shark-gluttony is a cornerstone of the by-laws
for living in this vaunted victual valhalla.
no foolin'.
*spoiler alert*
the food portion of today's communication is over.
the rest will be a pessimistic assessment of everything else.
you've been made aware, so my conscience is clear.
everyday is the same day.
black to gray to daylight,
i'm up, wakening by the whines of my F*ing dog.
i'm doing chores,
i'm baking, or making, and writing ;
i'm ignoring housework;
i'm walking this F*ing dog for actual literal temporally-measured hours;
and after a shower to wash the walk right off?
there's the daily routine of making the rounds en route to work....
and then,
THAT 25% of every day is an absolute horror of under-rewarding human interaction.
...and before i know it, but after a interminable tenure in the terrordome,
i'm headed home in the deep black of nighttime,
only it's still only early evening,
to make dinner for me and this F*ing dog,
and keep him occupied as he undermines and interferes with any and all activities
that might've seemed interesting if only he wasn't here to ruin them.
fall asleep on my feet, every night?
i'll do that.
wake up too dang early early every morning?
invest all of my time in work of one form or another,
and still feel like living is elusive in the same way that labor is pervasive?
you betcha.
my only company is this dog,
who may or may not want me to have a stroke.
honestly, i can't tell.
he is the neediest little A*-hole i've ever known,
and although i HATE that,
he's my responsibility,
so i've gotta see it through, at the apparent expense of all other interests.
i don't know how other people do it.
maybe their time-management is far superior.
maybe their pets are less co-dependent .
maybe they have a partner who helps out.
maybe they want less,
or do more,
or just don't care where they end up at the end of the day.
all i know is that  i can make one hell of a dinner,
so i do that, and hope the rest of it all heals on it's own.
the thing is-
time never heals mortal wounds.
you just stay dead for longer and longer as the clock ticks,
and the pages turn,
and days turn to weeks turn to months turn to years.
and there is nothing much more...
my career,
my romantic entanglements,
my (anti)social life,
my art-making,
my light before-bed reading-
that's all been ceased,
and has all possibly become deceased-
i actually cannot for the life of me be sure of it,
although time will tell, of course.
i'm just sayin'-
winter puts a lot of things to sleep,
eventually they wake up.
so, i s'pose whatever stays down underground when spring gets here
will get a eulogy and a cairn,
and i'll have to stop caring about resuscitation,
and maybe formulate some new plan for incvesting my time,
one with less and less and less in it.
all work and no play is already in play,
so i wonder what else i can afford to lose,
just so i can afford to stay.
it's all really happening.
i guess that's something, at least;
never quiet, never soft.....

No comments: