This is only the beginning.
of a vast repository of thoughts, deeds, inclinations and facetious oddities.
That limps out of my mind.
I write this to post.
Contextualized in a dearth of content.
To reveal meaning.
The meaning is that I’ve been putting off posting.
Putting off completion.
Putting on the mull.
The mull isn’t straightforward, but
Rather like chili post-preparation, needs a day or two to leave the best taste.
Let the mull have you, or the chili, and your mouth becomes thick, your fingers
It’s hard to throw out chili.
But food does go bad.
But the meals I’ve made, the meals that others have given me lately.
And the meat is about cooked.
Slow cooked to be sure.
And there was many a Kodak moment (what a phrase, what a reflection of this society, this capitalist place, this time defined by incorporation and organization and did you know that a drunk Greek kid talked to me on the bus tonight? and he asked me where I was from and I said Ameriki like a person from America would say and he laughed a pained laugh that was truly funny and wheezed and said the word businessman and that made me sad and I tried to tell him no no not a business, man its personal and that I am a thimiosografia or somesuch a writer of well-repute, a teller of truths and an english lady had to act as relay, and then he and his friends wobbled off the bus into the city after one stop or maybe two and you know they didn’t pay for a ticket. They shouldn’t have. And I got a handshake and a laugh, and so did he.)
A food picture never rots.
A picture never rots.
And if it hasn’t rotted, and it won’t soon.
Well, that’s some useful food for thought.
<Life’s crazy yaknoe, what with the t33n hip slang and uage (that’s a slang sandwich) for hips and lang and uage (that’s a lang sandwich). Think of these both as lame sand witches.>
(Ewe can interpret this as a part of this poem or apart from that verse or whichever or whoever you think is appropriate to appropriate. But not lamb. Lamb cannot.
There is more to come. Of a more traditional addition to the risen prison of word. Now this is just self-indulgent.)