al fresco pesto punk

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: November 09, 2018

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Submitted: November 09, 2018

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Bim-saladim-saladaaaaaaaaa I blast my third eye to the stars
I’ve made some especially slow roasted mini explosions of caramelised and perfectly salted and peppered pumpkin mixed up in to the most amazing pumpkin, pine nut, and feta salad with baby spinach and rocket leaves, a light amount of thinly sliced red onion, those pine nuts are toasted to perfection, Persian feta marinated in rosemary and olive oil and drizzled over lightly with a sticky mixture of sweet local honey and thick balsamic glaze sauce

we’ve got wild caught fukoshima radiation salmon fillets cooked up with crispy skin on all sides
scattered over the side some crispy fried capers and garlic that’s all topiaried to perfection with a dollop of roast garlic and hollandaise sauce that’s so amazing I think I could drink it
I guzzle in to it all diggin it down like a dill pesto punk hot mess dropping its everywhere like I’m on a sinking ship and it’s my last meal
and ya know what it seems like I’ve been waitin for this moment for millions of fockin eons

we have an apple crumble for dessert with fresh grated apples and a crispy topping of buttery muesli cookie crumble and ohhhh man, that crumble sauce
that also features a little drizzy drizz of the local honey
which is from my favourite beekeeper of all time, I might add
you might catch him in a killer episode of this or that

you could get lost in that crumble sauce for hours
without every really accomplishing anything other than being a useless fucking eater and achieving nothing really other than the total complete utter hyperfuck of your days and your weeks and your months that then blur in to your years and your decades
and before you know it actually FEELS LIKE YOU’VE BEEN HERE FOR MILLIONS OF FOCKIN EONS
and you’ve been locked in to autopilot forever

going through life like you’re really just staring at a screen in a total fuckin trance totally hypnotized by a killer episode of this or that or you’re making music and being a useless fuckin eater all day
for hours and weeks and moments pass eating and doin your jam and one day
you realise you’re really just suddenly watching everything around you slowly go up in flames and you don’t really have anything to show for it all na zip nada nothing
your day is lost when you finish your dinner and turn off your amplifiers and screens without making any real impact on anything, lost in your world, just a lord of snackytown
lost in your mantras you’re a lord psychoconsumer monstrofatty wasting your life creating flavours and each of your moments are disappearing lost forever in to other fleeting moments that drift off in to the ether
when it should all be going down in the hall of fame for uber demigods and megababes
total paragons
secret passphrases, so much freshness
and strange behaviours

bim saladim saladaaaa
ohh yaaa snackymaster

I mastered all the cooking classes, passed all kinds of dough through dough stargates

got some recipes of mine that are so fine they’ll blow ya mind
I’ll sit up to another million kazillion slap up swish dinners
and tapenda barrellin down on ya like an unstoppable engine
to pass all the pinnacles before you die
spicy, sweet, salty, sour, savoury, tangy, tart, the depths of every balance and temperatures, all at once  at one with the world
in perfect harmony with it

my eyes well up with gratitude
there’s red grapes and roast lamb just melting softly off the bones
cooking over fire
I decompose and recompose my composure
fajitas, ahh my heart-aaaaa

I have a range of flavours to keep me in its grip pinballing me around like something out of one of my weird dreams

which have been getting weirder and weirder, might I add too

I can’t remember most of them upon waking
and sometimes I find out I’m still in a dream within a dream, an inception of little dreams within dreams

and really when you think about it, that’s how life is, really, just like that
life is just a series of little dreams within dreams

and everything is just a little series of a mini deaths and lost moments of lost pasts and memories and parallel dimensional futures and psuedomemories and strange dreams
like watching epic sci-fi movies about quantum entanglement and downloads to your third eye in your sleep
adventures through the jungle with some dinner recipes to wind up the day
that are so fine I try to explain it all sometimes
and end up letting other peoples’ mediocre imagination twigs frame me down in to something more palatable for them

but that’s better than just sitting around wasting my life commenting casually on shit and mutilating my pleasure senses with my constant visceral psychoconsumer electricity addiction just plodding through life endlessly making my music that I can only make when nobody is watching or listening and only I can hear and only I know what goes on in the monstrous infinote fractal chaos of a void

with the strange dreams that whisper me how to heal myself my molten physics downloads and information and dreams and visions reeling and streaming past lost
I constantly stick my fishing rod out and reel another fukoshima radiation salmon in for another great time another great classic hit
another bit ticking time along moment by moment, frame by frame

I’m a little peeved at the way that I think, and the way that I don’t think, to be more exact
I’m a little peeved at my 3D reality and astral infinite dimensional immortality where I can’t catch a good sleep
I get my teensy little twinkle toe hold in to this sauce this source so bright through the eternal stream through the abyss through the portal back to my game back on my bike back to my dinner
which was perfectly crisp

this all might be a little uncomfortable to picture
but you could be saving all of the pointless time that you’ve wasted just hopelessly thinking and thinking and thinking about stuff
you could be saving all that time you’ve wasted totally hypnotized by a killer episode of this or that
lost in your maudlin musins about stuff and those pesky little thoughts that do nothing other than go TEE HEE and shove you down in to the spiraling spinning vortex and giggle sweetly as they tunnel you down further with that non-refundable ticket to go on the ultra fast rocket to nowhere town
where you can sit in your seat comfortably going through lifes rollercoasters watching lifes history from the backseat like you’re just playing X-box for days and you don’t have any cash but you don’t worry because you can sell your soul or five fingers from your first born child and walk away with no more to pay until next week

smashing through each level and quest in an this endless little series of mini-deaths that is just like an old game, it just gets faster and faster until you die
you’d be dangerous if you didn’t disarm and nuke yourself out every now and then with new experiences to ponder and ruminate and masturbate over
and a really heavy feed to slow you down at the end of the day so you can crawl off in to your dark and comfortable cave with a litre of coconut water and feel like you’ve achieved some of whatever little blasting bits of potential that you have had hidden locked away inside your endless twisting head up there

plagued by moments and reminiscent memories and psuedomememories
sauntering through it all mind you like a total professional all of the time 
pretty much almost maybe 85% of the time or 75% or maybe a fucking lot less depending on what your standards actually are

watching everything just come out of your mouth from the backseat letting your alter-ego personal representative take over to do the job for this one is the best idea but it’s a big mistake because imposter syndrome kicks in and your personal representative is fully not equipped to do the job either
at all
sorry you faked your way out of this in the worst fucking possible way but we’ve realised we've actually seriously got a fucking complete idiot savant here and someone needs to take over the wheel but I can’t do it cuz the al fresco pesto punk is driving like a maniac at 5km an hour down the mental mind footpath trying to distract me from the apololyptic licking and kicking maelstrom flailing spree that’s been bubbling up as I’m ticking shit off my do and don’t-wanna-do lists and should-have and shouldn’t-have-said lists that bubble up in my brain
and in my life pointlessly
just thinking and thinking and thinking about stuff
and doing things forever that only just fade away and disappear
endless blinking endless instants never really getting you anywhere
other than onto that one way ticket to go on the ultra fast rocket to nowhere town

fading away slowly 

 


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