you that turmeric has the same properties as saffron, right? oh sure sure, you want yellow rice, you plop a teaspoon of turmeric into the rice being boiled, and ****! out it come, yellow. saffron is for pompous people, but turmeric is the same as saffron, plus? it's way way cheaper, and it does the same job.
at the local (supermarket) -
and i can't feel the bitter loneliness
while walking down an aisle
to be honest, walking in a graveyard
gives me a more cheerful aura
than walking in the supermarket...
but there's something even more sad
than what i already cited:
i.e., graveyards seem more abundant
in happiness that supermarket
at the check-out, being asked for my age...
31... beard like pirate,
just asking: huh?
dude, you're 24, i'm 31, even when i was
16 i wasn't asked for my age
buying cheap cider in an offie (off-license)
or a ****-mag (ah, those days,
where you would be publically "shamed"...
but then in the 00s,
**** sites were infested with
the trojan virus...
you didn't know which ones were
try buying a ***** mag these days,
ha ha, good luck;
oddly enough, in belgium there's no
weird aura buying such a mag...
even if you're under-age.
so back to the supermarket...
people just desperate for a conversation,
to break the professionalism
the routine: (a) do you have a club-card?
(b) do you need help packing?
(c) how will you be paying?
all of this must seem like listening
to a hammer a hundred nails per minute...
so we start talking,
beards, age, dogs...
and it's not even a sign of being extroverted,
rather: i need to talk more words than
this function allows me...
oh, a black labrador?
nibbles on your beard?
how old do you look?
shave it off, you'd look 20 / 21...
'you're going to be my new best friend,
i'm actually 24',
well, you know, us white "dudes"
reach their full ****** potential in
our late twenties...
blah blah blah, blah bah black sheep,
i could do with just referring to
a dog's barking, or a cat meowing...
people in supermarkets, in ready-meal
begging for someone to rescue them
to cook them a meal from scratch...
what do all these people do with the time
in between buying a ready-meal
cooking it in a microwave for 15 minutes
and then what?
can't be all t.v., surely?
where's the joy of watching ingredients change
colour, and exfoliate like buds into flowers
in late spring?
cardamom... probably my favourite
ingredient... yeah, cloves...
oh **** me, a bay leaf...
cinnamon, sure sure...
i find more happiness walking through a cemetary
than that eerie lonliness and sadness
of ready meals and un-drunk liquor
as i get, walking through a supermarket.
p.s. i really wasn't thinking or implying
ginsberg's ode to whithman that
what thoughts i have of you tonight...
****-eroticism: perfected on paper...
and that's where i like it,
if it's ****-eroticism it's best performed
and sure, *michel de montaigne
on melancholy -
top three cemeteries? o.k. four...
père lachaise (paris)
newington cemetery (edinburgh)
old calton burial ground (edinburgh)
kirkut (ostrowiec św.)
the last one? jewish, with the burial stones
stacked against each other.