Sunday, June 11


don't cook angry, neighbors.
....because you can taste it.
that's real.
i had one heck of a busy day,
which had me behind schedule, sorta.
i'm sayin',
i'm basically all alone, save for my little homie, crabtree.
thing is-
i was out early lookin' for that new-new,
and i was home late,
after adding even MORE exxxtras
to an already extra half sleeve of filigree and paisley-covered big black tribal,
...on a hot mom.
so weird, right/
i know.
but i felt the pressure to get home to my good boy,
who of course was wound tighter than a clock-spring,
and bounding, bouncing, and battle-beast juggernauting into any-and-everything
from all that pent-up power he'd had to hold under wraps all dang day.
that's stressful, instantly transitioning into berserker fury.
we only ever amp each other up, never calm each other down.
what happens when two level eleven champions of stormswept savagery team up?
one hundred twenty one levels of warrior poetry start unraveling,
like a scolding skald's spat hot fire.
so, nothing was easy. and nothing was calm.
and nothing was focused.
i had ten things going the instant i walked in,
and crabby was five of them.
...........aggravation ensued.
womp womp.
i took it out on my kitchen, and then,
my kitchen took it out on my dumb face.
i thought for sure i was on some other other sh!t,
planning ahead, making decisions, pursuing fortune,
being bold,
and being, maybe not beautiful,
but at least maintaining some level of acceptable effed-uppery,
while i whistled and worked and went about my business.
i had it all wrong.
yesterday was a day for existential wavelength manipulation,
the aetheric esoteric ephemeral invisi-vibes were way off,
and it really had one hell of a negative effect on my food, dudes.
oh, NO.
i'm not on some crystal-chakra mytsical atlantean dolphin b!tchbaggery,
i'm just sayin' that there was something in the air,
and it had me doing things just to the wrong side of correctly,
and as a result,
i had a piece of sh!t for supper.
check the stay ugly, stay dope inversion situation:

i know-
it looks like it should taste impressive.
what with all sorts of stacks on stacks,
and all kinds of colors and textures-
take a closer look at the geologic striations of that skyscrapin' sarnie:

too bad it tasted boring AF.
i was looking to get TILTY on flav',
but i just got full from full-on despair instead.
homemade cracked rye buns, proofed all day?
yeah, i did that.
on the ones, i got it poppin' in the a.m.
fried tofu, avocado, pickles, slaw, red onion, tomato,
pickled crawnchy carrot-radish stuff, cilantro,
and custom piece-of-sh!t veggie burgers.
you read that right.
i won't even bother telling you what's up with them.
they tasted fine.
not amazing, not phenomenal, not anything special.
just fine.
that's not good enough.
rules is rules, man,
and sandwiches are s'posed to be my thing.
real talk.......i didn't even instagram it.
it doesn't matter how it looks if i know it doesn't measure up.
true stories told truly are all i know how to recite.
maybe i was just a salty sourpuss?
i don't know,
the three-sisters succotash was good, i guess.
weirdly and satisfyingly meaty for being beans and corn and squash, mostly.
the slaw was tight, too, but not so tight it carried the day, y'feel me?
i made some food.
i ate some food.
i did it without the exxxplosoive joy i normally feel,
and the results reflected it.
it's all always really happening...
and being good-lookin' sans substance is not okay.
i wouldn't know about that in regards to being a human being,
but i experienced it firsthand between bread,
and i'm not happy about it.
stay ugly, eat beautiful is a thing,
but only if it's ALSO totally expert.
everything less is a F*ing black hole;
never quiet, never soft..... 
p.s. i know a learning experience when i see it, bro, take it easy.

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