i saw one g7y on youtube use a bunch of double cream but i don’t fuck with/like that

Séguin,_Armand_-_Two_Thatched_Cottages_(Les_deux_chaumières)_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg
pic totally unrelated
the first time i saw this i knew i wanted to use it for a poem
and who knows when i’ll write my next poem, right?/1/1/1!!?!?!?!?

last few hey-ho
ups n downs n wasted time
let jealousy get the better of me it
sits me down and keeps me sat
indefinitely indubitably i should review
what i currently consider priorities

italian food en masse
excuse my french but this pot bellies worth it
for the pasta pon pasta yeah
some kids’ take on
flavours and recipes passed down through generations
globalised commodified commercialised n
fetishised but i like to think i treat italian food with
some degree of respect
except when i do the funny accent /that’s not cool

maybe i should turn this into some kind of food blog
gods know; the rich ingredients
that once constituted the vast seemingly
endless simmering sauce that was my poetry
have run dry /their
excitable saucier in the sky jaded

so without further ado i’d like to like to talk you through
~my recipe instructions~
~for a slimy carbonara~
that’ll mentally take you to the italian riviera
and didnt’cha know that mediterranean people live-a for long’a (sorry)
serves:1 (because if you are anything like me
you are alone and largely miserable)

you need
spaghett of some kind
bacon or panchetta
few eggs n some parmasan
butter or olive oil but ideally both my friends
black pepper and garlic please
optional parsley /mushrooms n
cherry-boy tomatoes
maybe some rocket i guess

prep first if you don’t chop good
otherwise boil spaghett right the heck now (this evening i will
be using linguine)

PREP:
chop bacon
panchetta if you’re feelin bougie
the egg sauce (SEE: the egg sauce)

OK now chuck a wad o butter in a pan n watch it melt
huff it and be rallied/hurry crush a couple cloves
(of garlic) chuck em in n take a moment
to savour the fragrance
no time/ throw in the bacon
let it brown stir it round & for the ‘optional’ few
add mushrooms around now
cherry-boys whenever you want depending on your preference

timing timing timing timing
i’m not a youtube video or a cookbook
i’m a poem that is potentially
primarily written to inform
(make the egg sauce around now (SEE: the egg sauce))

go ahead and scoop out them cloves asshole
your pasta should be ready around now
so drain it and throw it in the bacon pan
toss it maybe put in a little pasta water
turn the hob off

extremely high level stuff.
the egg sauce:::
couple egg yolks n grated parmasan
or pecorino according to elitist fatboy jamie oliver
and his padrone puppetmasters
yeah beat and whisk that cheese on sight n
pour the sauce on over your pasta
and let me tell you
the warmth of the pasta alone will
get the eggs to where they need to be (AN AMAZING SCIENTIFIC FACT)
mark my words

i swear to you
on my youth and my admittedly
shredded tattered dignity
that sauce and your bacon grease will be complicit in creating
what is commonly regarded as a carbonara sauce, my friends

pepper parsley pepper more
i love a peppery carbonara me and
i’m sure you will too
with mushies and cherry-boys optional /toss it all
linguin-e ideall-y
serve it up/ grate more cheese whatever

and there you, as they say, have it
by far the tastiest poem i’ve ever written
and relatively, by a far smaller margin the healthiest********
potentially the most informative
potentially the least poetic

************except for that one about nuts and dried fruits

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“SAY GRACE” (INFINITY)

FUKIN BRUD.jpg
pic again somewhat related
i believe it necessary to mention that i know virtually nothing about birds
please enjoy this deranged and clumsily crudely told poem. thank you



picked apart by birds of prey
or scavenger birds or
bird mentality

not penguins but like
*fuckin birds* yeah
talons descending
squawking pecking they
go for the eye they
tear through your cheeks and
have at your innards *fuck* *swoop*
known to take babies /vom in their babies
laying eggs n i’m sorry but

i’m not birdist but birds i don’t get you
or at least like

i wouldn’t fit in with the fleet or the flock
in formation or otherwise – yeah i’d be
the furthest from the birdest yeah birds like..
you’re raptors
n i’m that kid hiding in the kitchen in j-park

except i’m ready to stab you in the foot with a kitchen knife
yeah carnivore style with opposable thumbs, birds!
n on land n inside there’s no room to fly, birds!
on ground n under where humans gut birds, *fuck*, birds!
we roast you
yeah *you’re good* with all sorts yeah we take the eggs you lay n
fry n roast n cage en masse *well fuck* we grow and drug you birds
vom /it’s fucked /it’s lean protein
it’s omnivore style with opposable thumbs
n free will n greed /again mouths to feed
*all sorts* there’s *all sorts* what am i doing
birds and humans tonnes of difference /whats the difference

food chain hungry /in our case
*greedy* (ask birds if they’re greedy)

food chain hungry birds’ll birds’ll
take and fly they’ll fuckin /birds’ll
dive n snatch n soar away the *fuckin birds* they
claw at me and scream at me with eyes bea-dy
n beaks n i deserve it /”wet my
beak” yeah i deserve it
ambition /yeah that *payout* yeah that
hot meal
for me n mine yeah when i die
(if i remember)
maybe i’ll die near some scavenger birds y’know
give back a bit
redemption and forgiveness
altruism with opposable thumbs, yeah n
ask birds if they have altruistic tendencies

and regardless of their answer (if you get one(?))
scatter my remains along the plains they hunt
*squawk* n i get to get vommed /food chain

26 WINGS OF GRATITUDE / SAID GRACE 4.5

ate loads of em

vis-à-vis in relation to these /bless
u bless me with
regards to and concerning
and in terms of and in
the same vein in the
same school of thinking /sinking
shrinking ships i’m flickin chips
/disinterested, distinguished guests once
masticating now digest that
all you can eat chicken wing buffet/AKA
~wing(s?/ed?) wednesdays~

and guess what, i got honorary man o’ the match
yeah 26 wings knocked me for 6 n here i sit

keepin hydrated/stomach gyrates from
inflation n even these sea
faring legs can’t hack it in the kitchen

i stand upright, fightin /chicken on the mind
sea sick /forget chicken/ fingers crossed
digestion quickens n i’m stricken by the
chicken shivers /the shakes and a swig
to steady those hands /one must
cultivate ones own garden so

i get my 2 litres in n i wake up dryer
n on some flyer some drunk man passed me
‘disco from 9, n 5 before 12’ n infinite
chickens do the maths for infinity n
you end up with the entire works of shakespeare

n it’s like the last days of rome in here

an eat all you can buffet it’s a
you can eat all if you can it’s an
all of you, eat if you can if you
eat all you can /bill please
bill please/more water
chicken slaughter n i’m ashamed to say
they didn’t taste free-range to a well trained palette/ yeah chickens – i’ve had it /yeah sorry
i’m full / i feel guilty
but i guess i felt less guilty
when i finished you /finished food

..food chain’s fucked mate yeah you fucked it
n yeah you fund it

so repent, repent n will your guilt
to transcend proximity n
apathy n chicken-borne lethargy!

an ode to these/their legacy
from me at least
n this is something of a grace belated, said while bloated
chickens croaked bukaw’d they cawed
we’re wingless we surround you in your
dreams we came and found you
we wing-clipped you / we devoured you

and you were all that could be ate in the name
of some wednesday

when ill: on cooking

I cough lots and this is just a recap
a catch up n chicken curry didn’t clog me
chicken tandoori with flavours what floored me
got taught it once/it’s an overnight ting n when it comes to cooking
I’m not

as previously established i’m a one pot
slow fry, cauldron /whisk
asterisk I use other pots to boil usually
and a grill or an oven sometimes but yeah other than that
I stay on brand and use the same wok what I ‘fand
when walkin to my house, went back the long way
and yeah maybe I’ll try rememberin how to make that cu-ray

an h(/fr)omage to how i used to sound

sounds like a
crises plural/ lice
surround me/ hounds like
dinner time gather round
the waterin hole on the dole
on the day and
on the day that morning she
did her business blending as she do

shallow fryin she misses the way
she used to see all kinds of food get
wrought and grated
moulded and broiled and
covered in sweaty pastries n
wrapped in thinly cut meats
nondescript slabs of meats
peppered and slapped and ground grimacing

the way she used to see him ooze it/the way
he embodied soft cheese conceptually
trudged around proudly he felt
adequate thanks to her
knowing gaze