I don’t snack while I cook
she is the reason
they make live-concert tapings: applause an indicator
to how much something should be LIKED; the meter
of appreciation for slow minds and indigent justifications.
I often wondered how they sold those tapings – who wants clapping
and hollering drowning out the actual MUSIC that you yourself
want to appreciate, and enjoy?
but it tells them something is “good enough” so they are ALLOWED
to enjoy it.
what damage we sport! what cruel dents and
rending apertures … smiling holes and more holes.
ever the hungry Maw that abandons peace and strives for
“turmoiled” vengeance. I always found the concept stupid.
decided simply a matter of lazy contemplations, that would rather
CHOOSE this or that to FOLLOW, rather than JUDGE with what
gray matter God gave-them.
would rather manipulate others, than change themselves
shift an outlook
purge a tender memory.
today I manage the song through my headset – the CD one gift
I keep. thinking this is something she LIKED, trying to understand.
because ever I wanted to make that desperation in her SEE:
you don’t have to hit them before they hit you. sometimes the ANIMAL that
kills its own young to eliminate competition …. well sometimes extinction
is a self-made congratulation upon repeating number “1”
I would watch her snack on the bacon
as she made the stuffing for thanksgiving; the slavering over
what she prepared for others. I thought there was something there I wanted
that to have meant having appreciation on some scale
but it comes with a price
one I won’t pay
for the life of me.
she said she had a degree in culinary science ….. and every drop tasted flat. I simply
wanted to understand
the rank dependency on a system
WE created ………………. the monster a cruel form of human animal;
they CLAPPED! for 234 executions …. and I said “welcome to Camarillo” …. thousand oaks. the ones hoping for ventura, but too WHITE to be near the lands on the beach, setting up their schooled and doctored naiveté ….inland. in forts of outdoor malls and gated redundancy.
oh yes, they clapped. followers to the last.
it was when she tried to show me her artwork and tell me what to think of it –
that I gave up. or rather, decided that it didn’t matter if I understood.
sometimes bad is in the ingredients …even if the dish
was something made with unbridled hands
even if it was something one person you value appreciated: sometimes the priest
sometimes you can only judge the surface and leave the rest alone;
Roma stating “it’s his WIFE ….she makes him happy”
but I think the priest whips himself:
and you’ll never know why….