"michelin" poems - Hello Poetry

"michelin" poems

Which one you choose; whatever? Jimbaran, Kota or Nosadua happiness inside leaves us forever Took pictures with terrace rice fields background thinking of hanging on the wall around dancing decor all surrounds; echoing sounds Looking for the bedcover pink and blue Cotton floral design so beautiful true when we can use it without a clue Having a candle lit dinner on Uluwatu cliff beside a table without a script, a band of music breezing air across the ocean; not restrict Tasting Luwak coffee on way to Mount Butar the buffet was not super but we felt like Michelin cook rooster Thinking of happy ever after We went for banana boating I was afraid of chocking though it was floating while you're holding me tight but soaking Now you are there without me I'm sure your eyes will be full of tears of the memories can we call it tragedy?

0

Dec 31, 2018

Dec 31, 2018 at 1:57 AM UTC

Which one you choose; whatever? Jimbaran, Kota or Nosadua happiness inside leaves us forever Took pictures with terrace rice fields background thinking of hanging on the wall around dancing decor all surrounds; echoing sounds Looking for the bedcover pink and blue Cotton floral design so beautiful true when we can use it without a clue Having a candle lit dinner on Uluwatu cliff beside a table without a script, a band of music breezing air across the ocean; not restrict Tasting Luwak coffee on way to Mount Butar the buffet was not super but we felt like Michelin cook rooster Thinking of happy ever after We went for banana boating I was afraid of chocking though it was floating while you're holding me tight but soaking Now you are there without me I'm sure your eyes will be full of tears of the memories can we call it tragedy?

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"Farty Face" "Burpy *** Will never waste an ounce of love. Hot snot and bogey pie his children are the apple of his eye. There's a hole in my bucket Dear Liza All that have met come off much the wiser Chicken Curry ****** Up Minced Meat and mash Come on better hurry gotta speed up We don't need lots of cash to enjoy this michelin starred grub.

0

Aug 23, 2012

Aug 23, 2012 at 1:24 PM UTC

luke-r-e-webster

"Farty Face" "Burpy *** Will never waste an ounce of love. Hot snot and bogey pie his children are the apple of his eye. There's a hole in my bucket Dear Liza All that have met come off much the wiser Chicken Curry ****** Up Minced Meat and mash Come on better hurry gotta speed up We don't need lots of cash to enjoy this michelin starred grub.

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how Eye make love, this popped into my head tho questioning this quest, what purpose served, unknown... lacking the infatuation to poetry write, the mind retreats to the basics, eye write with no destination, wondering at the wonderment of this basic actionable accolade... sometimes, be the operative word, sometimes cooperative, is the operative... sometimes, is but a it just depends who is the initiate and who possesses the initiative... every story has a different author, ending... sometimes slow, sometimes muy rapido in foreign tongues in foreign places, the only commonality be that wonderment eye wish this not to be explanation, eye wish this to be an explication of the texts of sensual visionaries, imagining the helping to happening, the passageway to and from where the mind begins, the body completes its origination oft I close my Eyes, listening to hers, her eye voices directing me, what will be the course of our course, miss no Michelin starred landscapes, through hers, mine Eyes triumphant... tour guide excellente cannot explain why the temp sometimes solar flares, why the temp sometimes is a glacial expedition, tongue led, from toes to eyelids... always buy tickets for a round trip flight... how is a titillation, begging you to read & expose, there is no how, only sometimes better, sometimes different... why is a question needs no asking... when when the shape of her profiled neck, reflects shadows of further inquiry, when her décolletage collects me as she and her designer intended... when she laughs uproariously at my piquant, suave and debonair one liners, requiring kissing tickling calming when tears spill when reading a new takeaway poem mine, needy for a tongue to collect that spillway... just being friendly appreciative and thanking where is when the how and the why intersect the intemperate weather of being alone subtle suggests auto recollections now know the how, when, where and the why, my Eyes compose this elegy of memories of past and present...

0

Apr 26, 2015

Apr 26, 2015 at 9:18 AM UTC

how Eye make love, sometimes

how Eye make love, this popped into my head tho questioning this quest, what purpose served, unknown... lacking the infatuation to poetry write, the mind retreats to the basics, eye write with no destination, wondering at the wonderment of this basic actionable accolade... sometimes, be the operative word, sometimes cooperative, is the operative... sometimes, is but a it just depends who is the initiate and who possesses the initiative... every story has a different author, ending... sometimes slow, sometimes muy rapido in foreign tongues in foreign places, the only commonality be that wonderment eye wish this not to be explanation, eye wish this to be an explication of the texts of sensual visionaries, imagining the helping to happening, the passageway to and from where the mind begins, the body completes its origination oft I close my Eyes, listening to hers, her eye voices directing me, what will be the course of our course, miss no Michelin starred landscapes, through hers, mine Eyes triumphant... tour guide excellente cannot explain why the temp sometimes solar flares, why the temp sometimes is a glacial expedition, tongue led, from toes to eyelids... always buy tickets for a round trip flight... how is a titillation, begging you to read & expose, there is no how, only sometimes better, sometimes different... why is a question needs no asking... when when the shape of her profiled neck, reflects shadows of further inquiry, when her décolletage collects me as she and her designer intended... when she laughs uproariously at my piquant, suave and debonair one liners, requiring kissing tickling calming when tears spill when reading a new takeaway poem mine, needy for a tongue to collect that spillway... just being friendly appreciative and thanking where is when the how and the why intersect the intemperate weather of being alone subtle suggests auto recollections now know the how, when, where and the why, my Eyes compose this elegy of memories of past and present...

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Adrift on her very first voyage With the sea coursing in through her bow Lay the cruise ship, the S.S. Lumbago There was scarcely a chance for her now But Ahoy! On the western horizon In a flurry of yellow and green That ender of blight and a damsel’s delight And he’s always on cue for his scene It’s Sir Patrick Stewart! And his Luxury Budgerigar! It’s got seating for seventy people And the service is well above par There’s an adequate medical unit And a modest but elegant bar What more could a man ever dream of In a Luxury Budgerigar? Well… The forests of England were burning So the foxes escaped to the city The badgers had taken to looting And the squirrels had formed a committee But who should arise from a manhole With a confident gleam in his eye? That destroyer of woes with a spring in his toes And he’s quick with a witty reply… Sir Patrick Stewart! And his Luxury Budgerigar! With adjustable hose pipe attachment It’s got wheels like a feathery car The forests were dowsed and the fauna re-housed With a three day retreat at a spa It’s a thing to admire and surely acquire The Luxury Budgerigar! But… Susan was stricken with sorrow Twas her darkest, most fearful hour A spider had wrestled her out of her bath And set up his home in the shower But who should jump out of the wardrobe With an innocent look on his face? That singer of shanties, remover of ******* And first in an obstacle race Sir Patrick Stewart! And his Luxury Budgerigar With a sucker for spiders and beetles That deposits them into a jar There’s a tiny wee restaurant to feed them It was given a Michelin star A remarkable thing with retractable wings Is a Luxury Budgerigar So if you should be in a pet shop And you see just the critter for you Please heed this advice: make a note of the price Then proceed to the back of the queue When you ask for your preference of creature Should it whistle, slither or waddle Do as Sir Patrick Stewart did And opt for the Luxury model

0

May 27, 2014

May 27, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC

Sir Patrick Stewart's Luxury Budgerigar

Adrift on her very first voyage With the sea coursing in through her bow Lay the cruise ship, the S.S. Lumbago There was scarcely a chance for her now But Ahoy! On the western horizon In a flurry of yellow and green That ender of blight and a damsel’s delight And he’s always on cue for his scene It’s Sir Patrick Stewart! And his Luxury Budgerigar! It’s got seating for seventy people And the service is well above par There’s an adequate medical unit And a modest but elegant bar What more could a man ever dream of In a Luxury Budgerigar? Well… The forests of England were burning So the foxes escaped to the city The badgers had taken to looting And the squirrels had formed a committee But who should arise from a manhole With a confident gleam in his eye? That destroyer of woes with a spring in his toes And he’s quick with a witty reply… Sir Patrick Stewart! And his Luxury Budgerigar! With adjustable hose pipe attachment It’s got wheels like a feathery car The forests were dowsed and the fauna re-housed With a three day retreat at a spa It’s a thing to admire and surely acquire The Luxury Budgerigar! But… Susan was stricken with sorrow Twas her darkest, most fearful hour A spider had wrestled her out of her bath And set up his home in the shower But who should jump out of the wardrobe With an innocent look on his face? That singer of shanties, remover of ******* And first in an obstacle race Sir Patrick Stewart! And his Luxury Budgerigar With a sucker for spiders and beetles That deposits them into a jar There’s a tiny wee restaurant to feed them It was given a Michelin star A remarkable thing with retractable wings Is a Luxury Budgerigar So if you should be in a pet shop And you see just the critter for you Please heed this advice: make a note of the price Then proceed to the back of the queue When you ask for your preference of creature Should it whistle, slither or waddle Do as Sir Patrick Stewart did And opt for the Luxury model

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in the gray, milky silence of the morning… before we smell the hiss of bacon before the smog licks the creamed crimson sky before we hear the scurrying simian stream (of which we are a inexorable part) before the pungent circles of Michelin and Firestone have their daily chat with the asphalt before we wake to all this grotesque grandeur to once again kneel, supplicant against the wheel before we turn the key to ignite the spark to fetch the fire within, we were with Morpheus, perchance dreaming of greater gods of light, before the cluttered clatter of this unholy day

0

Apr 13, 2012

Apr 13, 2012 at 1:14 PM UTC

in the gray, milky silence of the morning… before we smell the hiss of bacon before the smog licks the creamed crimson sky before we hear the scurrying simian stream (of which we are a inexorable part) before the pungent circles of Michelin and Firestone have their daily chat with the asphalt before we wake to all this grotesque grandeur to once again kneel, supplicant against the wheel before we turn the key to ignite the spark to fetch the fire within, we were with Morpheus, perchance dreaming of greater gods of light, before the cluttered clatter of this unholy day

Continue reading...

go for the chills my boy whatever the hell it takes - go for the full body chills, the ones that start in your **** trickle down the backs of your knees drift up into the top of your cabeza make ya think there's chakras and all that, kind of chills that make ya think somebodys standing behind ya in the best possible light, hand on your shoulder watching you make the right decision over and over and over again. go for those chills, my love. go for the risk. where's the risk? who's got the risk? gimme! gimme! pshh... selling risk up and down the stairs like foolhardy can-boys sell miller lite at the ball games that we coulda gone to, where i never woulda seen your picture. selling risk like it's real risk - saying, hey! hee.. haa.. lookee over here - we got risk for ya: start a family! aint nothing more risky than that! and then boom! your lying on your back, in bed with an accountant, and he's a'counting out your finances planning your pleasures down to the dime, [won't letcha buy that dress that slips right off. ya know, one with the black lace all over? never did a great job hiding nothing from me, ya little piece uh risky business, you]. *no, err, sorry then... can't afford that risk... not in the spreadsheet... can'tttttttttt compute .... err... no second opinions... err... find FAQ's for further information.* i got a wooden spoon, derr..... that's me ^^^. spot the difference. one makes ya smile, the other takes it away. one makes ya laugh, the other takes it away. one makes you come, the other takes it away. one gives you chills, the other takes 'em away. how's about we dine on perrier and Michelin stars, tonight? i promise i'll wear the napkin round my esophagus, but only if you reach 'cross the table and tie it tight around me. mmmn... tie it a bit too tight at first, then slip a finger in between. can you feel my pulse?

0

Jun 13, 2019

Jun 13, 2019 at 9:44 AM UTC

shush now, the chills are coming...

go for the chills my boy whatever the hell it takes - go for the full body chills, the ones that start in your **** trickle down the backs of your knees drift up into the top of your cabeza make ya think there's chakras and all that, kind of chills that make ya think somebodys standing behind ya in the best possible light, hand on your shoulder watching you make the right decision over and over and over again. go for those chills, my love. go for the risk. where's the risk? who's got the risk? gimme! gimme! pshh... selling risk up and down the stairs like foolhardy can-boys sell miller lite at the ball games that we coulda gone to, where i never woulda seen your picture. selling risk like it's real risk - saying, hey! hee.. haa.. lookee over here - we got risk for ya: start a family! aint nothing more risky than that! and then boom! your lying on your back, in bed with an accountant, and he's a'counting out your finances planning your pleasures down to the dime, [won't letcha buy that dress that slips right off. ya know, one with the black lace all over? never did a great job hiding nothing from me, ya little piece uh risky business, you]. *no, err, sorry then... can't afford that risk... not in the spreadsheet... can'tttttttttt compute .... err... no second opinions... err... find FAQ's for further information.* i got a wooden spoon, derr..... that's me ^^^. spot the difference. one makes ya smile, the other takes it away. one makes ya laugh, the other takes it away. one makes you come, the other takes it away. one gives you chills, the other takes 'em away. how's about we dine on perrier and Michelin stars, tonight? i promise i'll wear the napkin round my esophagus, but only if you reach 'cross the table and tie it tight around me. mmmn... tie it a bit too tight at first, then slip a finger in between. can you feel my pulse?

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TS Eliot said, “Paris is a strong stimulant.” It is - but it has nothing on Manhattan. If Paris is a Café Crème espresso at a café-en-terrasse under the stars. Manhattan is a ‘Black Tie Bawls’ cocktail at The Crown bar (the skyline!). We were going to relax - in Manhattan, instead, keep those seat belts fastened. Lisa said, one night, “Want to go out for a bit?” Since then, I’ll admit, our nights have been lit. We have ten days, and we’ve decided to try every Michelin-starred restaurant we can (there are 68 in NYC). So far, we’ve been to Eleven Madison Park, Le Bernardin and Per Se. This was Lisa’s idea. The food is delicious - if you like a corn-flake with something on it or a steak the size of a bouillon cube ($250 per person with cocktails and dessert). As we left ‘Per Se’ I asked, “Can we get something to eat now? I’m starved.” I was only ½ kidding. It’s MY idea to visit every beautix rooftop bar in Manhattan (there are exactly10). So far, we’ve been to, ‘The Peninsula,’ ‘230-Fith’’ and ‘NoMad’ - we’ve only been at these tasks for three nights. We’re doing other things too. We’re going to Broadway shows (& Juliet, the Great Gatsby, Oh Mary!, Wicked) and to see Idina Menzel (Wicked, Frozen) in concert and a John Oliver and Seth Meyers comedy show next Monday. We do these, as in - Dinner, show, rooftop bar. OH, and we’re dancin’ like we’re sentient - no cap. Our sordid troup, is Lisa and Dave (her boo), Charles & Ms Charles, Lisa’s folks (Karen and Michael) and Lisa’s little sister Leeza and Meeeee. Luckily, we have one of my Grandmère’s conglomerate, executive secretarial minions (François) booking reservations for us. He’s got ‘contacts.’ Yeah, we’re drivin’ full speed towards summer’s end - “fo-shizzle” (to quote Snoop Dogg). We figure we can rest, a few days, in New Haven. Wasn’t Snoop fire at the Olympics? . . dance club songs, for this one: One Kiss by Calvin Harris & Dua Lipa Lipstick by Kungs Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter [E] Levitating by Dua Lipa . . slang… café-en-terrasse = terrace cafe Black Tie Bawls = (cocktail) Blavod black ***** lemon, and Bawls energy drink. beautix = top drawer, rizz No cap = no lie fo-shizzle = for sure fire = great, a standout [E] = explicit

0

Aug 13, 2024

Aug 13, 2024 at 4:57 PM UTC

manhattan madness

TS Eliot said, “Paris is a strong stimulant.” It is - but it has nothing on Manhattan. If Paris is a Café Crème espresso at a café-en-terrasse under the stars. Manhattan is a ‘Black Tie Bawls’ cocktail at The Crown bar (the skyline!). We were going to relax - in Manhattan, instead, keep those seat belts fastened. Lisa said, one night, “Want to go out for a bit?” Since then, I’ll admit, our nights have been lit. We have ten days, and we’ve decided to try every Michelin-starred restaurant we can (there are 68 in NYC). So far, we’ve been to Eleven Madison Park, Le Bernardin and Per Se. This was Lisa’s idea. The food is delicious - if you like a corn-flake with something on it or a steak the size of a bouillon cube ($250 per person with cocktails and dessert). As we left ‘Per Se’ I asked, “Can we get something to eat now? I’m starved.” I was only ½ kidding. It’s MY idea to visit every beautix rooftop bar in Manhattan (there are exactly10). So far, we’ve been to, ‘The Peninsula,’ ‘230-Fith’’ and ‘NoMad’ - we’ve only been at these tasks for three nights. We’re doing other things too. We’re going to Broadway shows (& Juliet, the Great Gatsby, Oh Mary!, Wicked) and to see Idina Menzel (Wicked, Frozen) in concert and a John Oliver and Seth Meyers comedy show next Monday. We do these, as in - Dinner, show, rooftop bar. OH, and we’re dancin’ like we’re sentient - no cap. Our sordid troup, is Lisa and Dave (her boo), Charles & Ms Charles, Lisa’s folks (Karen and Michael) and Lisa’s little sister Leeza and Meeeee. Luckily, we have one of my Grandmère’s conglomerate, executive secretarial minions (François) booking reservations for us. He’s got ‘contacts.’ Yeah, we’re drivin’ full speed towards summer’s end - “fo-shizzle” (to quote Snoop Dogg). We figure we can rest, a few days, in New Haven. Wasn’t Snoop fire at the Olympics? . . dance club songs, for this one: One Kiss by Calvin Harris & Dua Lipa Lipstick by Kungs Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter [E] Levitating by Dua Lipa . . slang… café-en-terrasse = terrace cafe Black Tie Bawls = (cocktail) Blavod black ***** lemon, and Bawls energy drink. beautix = top drawer, rizz No cap = no lie fo-shizzle = for sure fire = great, a standout [E] = explicit

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#24 | 31 Poems for August 2016 This is not my life, it’s just a temporary façade, if you listen to my voice you’ll discover that it’s my disguise. I fully acknowledge the fact that I am not perfect but I’d love to believe that I’m worth it. The hardest part of saying goodbye is seeing me cry and knowing that I’ll no longer get the chance to see you smile. I wrote this on a Tuesday morning while listening to Siegfried by Frank Ocean while reading the pages of a Dan Brown novel. I’d build Rome for you in a day and make you forget about all the negative things that critics always say. Heartbreak comes in the morning when the sun is shining and the wind is blowing. My heart breaks as I try to piece this piece together and hopefully find peace by the end of this masterpiece. I’m tired like the Michelin Man but I still have great drive like a brand new Bentley or Benz. Some days I’m more Bukowski than Dickens, flipping through the pages of my life as the plot thickens. They say perception is flawed and distorted, perception is key and I need to find a locksmith. Contemplating about unexpected goodbyes while living off a temporary high. A part of me had already anticipated the heartbreak so this time around the effects were less detrimental. My eyes and mind are blinded by the love that my heart obstinately believes in. I’m thankful for your love, you gave me something to believe in but the time has come for me to be leaving. This is not my life, it’s just a temporary façade, if you analyse my poetry you’ll discover that it’s my disguise.

0

Aug 24, 2016

Aug 24, 2016 at 11:45 AM UTC

kaleidoscope-prhyme

Temporary Façade

#24 | 31 Poems for August 2016 This is not my life, it’s just a temporary façade, if you listen to my voice you’ll discover that it’s my disguise. I fully acknowledge the fact that I am not perfect but I’d love to believe that I’m worth it. The hardest part of saying goodbye is seeing me cry and knowing that I’ll no longer get the chance to see you smile. I wrote this on a Tuesday morning while listening to Siegfried by Frank Ocean while reading the pages of a Dan Brown novel. I’d build Rome for you in a day and make you forget about all the negative things that critics always say. Heartbreak comes in the morning when the sun is shining and the wind is blowing. My heart breaks as I try to piece this piece together and hopefully find peace by the end of this masterpiece. I’m tired like the Michelin Man but I still have great drive like a brand new Bentley or Benz. Some days I’m more Bukowski than Dickens, flipping through the pages of my life as the plot thickens. They say perception is flawed and distorted, perception is key and I need to find a locksmith. Contemplating about unexpected goodbyes while living off a temporary high. A part of me had already anticipated the heartbreak so this time around the effects were less detrimental. My eyes and mind are blinded by the love that my heart obstinately believes in. I’m thankful for your love, you gave me something to believe in but the time has come for me to be leaving. This is not my life, it’s just a temporary façade, if you analyse my poetry you’ll discover that it’s my disguise.

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Topolobampo, Xoco, Xoco River North, Frontera Grill, Frontera Fresco, Fonda Frontera, Tortas Frontera, Frontera Cocina, Lena Brava, Cruz Blanca, Red O. PBS specials, Michelin stars and public cooking demos be ****** that's too many, right? Load up your guac with all the pork belly and pepitas you want. Star in a self-indulgent Lookingglass Theatre play. Soak up the accolades of being a culinary genius more than a Jalisco-style slow-braised goat sits in its own juices. But hey man, come on, give us a break.

0

Apr 17, 2017

Apr 17, 2017 at 3:07 AM UTC

Rick Bayless Has Too Many Mexican Restaurants

Topolobampo, Xoco, Xoco River North, Frontera Grill, Frontera Fresco, Fonda Frontera, Tortas Frontera, Frontera Cocina, Lena Brava, Cruz Blanca, Red O. PBS specials, Michelin stars and public cooking demos be ****** that's too many, right? Load up your guac with all the pork belly and pepitas you want. Star in a self-indulgent Lookingglass Theatre play. Soak up the accolades of being a culinary genius more than a Jalisco-style slow-braised goat sits in its own juices. But hey man, come on, give us a break.

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A dark line snakes along the shoreline Vanishing into a towering temple Home to the finest Michelin cuisine The ravenous crowd awaits, raven-clad, fangs out. Chef Yukinosuke’s obnoxiously fragranced guests Survived his expertly orchestrated dinner with death They devoured his fugu main course, without remorse ******* with a familiar demon, gatekeeper to hell Muffled screams can be heard behind the rice paper curtain A clamor of voices arises, one can hardly maintain The merciless knives wielders, red lips kissing bone Eternally insatiable of sins they can’t atone For. Yukinosuke adjusts the nori bond Of this new victim, his room will be fond One poised drop of noir caviar in her navel Her scaled-tail undulates, tale-tell Signs of her struggles before slaughter. Queen of the seven oceans served with a side Of whipped up seaweed cream from the tide Her breast perspiring under a life-like lotus flower. Before her, watering mouths stare in disbelief ***** men eye her perfectly tamed skin A woman sadistically touches her finger to her shin Yukinosuke’s knife glistens, still free from grief. Marred mermaid munched at midnight Lusterless tuffs of salt-streaked hair Vanished into thin air. A trampled on silky red ribbon in lieu of a gag Remains. Her turquoise scales to be made into a bag. April 8, 2018

0

Apr 8, 2018

Apr 8, 2018 at 6:13 AM UTC

A dark line snakes along the shoreline Vanishing into a towering temple Home to the finest Michelin cuisine The ravenous crowd awaits, raven-clad, fangs out. Chef Yukinosuke’s obnoxiously fragranced guests Survived his expertly orchestrated dinner with death They devoured his fugu main course, without remorse ******* with a familiar demon, gatekeeper to hell Muffled screams can be heard behind the rice paper curtain A clamor of voices arises, one can hardly maintain The merciless knives wielders, red lips kissing bone Eternally insatiable of sins they can’t atone For. Yukinosuke adjusts the nori bond Of this new victim, his room will be fond One poised drop of noir caviar in her navel Her scaled-tail undulates, tale-tell Signs of her struggles before slaughter. Queen of the seven oceans served with a side Of whipped up seaweed cream from the tide Her breast perspiring under a life-like lotus flower. Before her, watering mouths stare in disbelief ***** men eye her perfectly tamed skin A woman sadistically touches her finger to her shin Yukinosuke’s knife glistens, still free from grief. Marred mermaid munched at midnight Lusterless tuffs of salt-streaked hair Vanished into thin air. A trampled on silky red ribbon in lieu of a gag Remains. Her turquoise scales to be made into a bag. April 8, 2018

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. *what the hell happened, how did television become more entertaining than cinema? how?! ah... primarily it's the whole binge effect... but... this is us discovers mundane **** and yet... it's enthralling, perhaps the cocktail of very impressive juxtaposition of past and present... it's engaging because of that, esp. for people with short attention spans.. personally? i don't mind the disorientation, very much akin to the t.v. series: sharp objects... which is probably why the genre of still life, in terms of painting is dead twice over and not even, remotely equivalent to rolling in it and screaming like a banshee... it's not... modern cuisine has killed still life... namely? paul cézanne is dead... the whole: fruit bowl, glass and apples, "thing"? with what moderns express their culinary skills? and how a Michelin star restaurant presents a dish? **** me... edible art... more importantly, the former observation... television has managed to **** off cinema... wherever they are, i'm pretty sure it's not Hollywood... cinema is dead, and dead in the sense: not even steak dead, something you could eat... dead as in decomposing dead, gangrene flesh.* . every single time... the groove is just too good... come nighttime you'll probably find me dancing a deserted night avenue... yeah, white boy dance... who would have thought?! i thought that white men can't either jump, or dance... angry in youth, resentful in old age... no, i'm not jealous about some Arab harem... don't have the ******* stamina... but whenever foster the people's song pumped up kicks, my mind doesn't listen, and my body reacts, chooses to mingle with the rhythm, even sitting down, the pigeon walk... dum dum dum... blah blah... and a few minutes later - the dance? something akin to that famous Pulp Fiction dance of: girl... someday you're gonna be a woman and... mr spastic fantastic riddled by an epileptic episode? somehow my pelvis becomes detached from the body, and does a comet orbit... the song gets me... every single time.

0

Sep 28, 2018

Sep 28, 2018 at 6:20 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

every single time

. *what the hell happened, how did television become more entertaining than cinema? how?! ah... primarily it's the whole binge effect... but... this is us discovers mundane **** and yet... it's enthralling, perhaps the cocktail of very impressive juxtaposition of past and present... it's engaging because of that, esp. for people with short attention spans.. personally? i don't mind the disorientation, very much akin to the t.v. series: sharp objects... which is probably why the genre of still life, in terms of painting is dead twice over and not even, remotely equivalent to rolling in it and screaming like a banshee... it's not... modern cuisine has killed still life... namely? paul cézanne is dead... the whole: fruit bowl, glass and apples, "thing"? with what moderns express their culinary skills? and how a Michelin star restaurant presents a dish? **** me... edible art... more importantly, the former observation... television has managed to **** off cinema... wherever they are, i'm pretty sure it's not Hollywood... cinema is dead, and dead in the sense: not even steak dead, something you could eat... dead as in decomposing dead, gangrene flesh.* . every single time... the groove is just too good... come nighttime you'll probably find me dancing a deserted night avenue... yeah, white boy dance... who would have thought?! i thought that white men can't either jump, or dance... angry in youth, resentful in old age... no, i'm not jealous about some Arab harem... don't have the ******* stamina... but whenever foster the people's song pumped up kicks, my mind doesn't listen, and my body reacts, chooses to mingle with the rhythm, even sitting down, the pigeon walk... dum dum dum... blah blah... and a few minutes later - the dance? something akin to that famous Pulp Fiction dance of: girl... someday you're gonna be a woman and... mr spastic fantastic riddled by an epileptic episode? somehow my pelvis becomes detached from the body, and does a comet orbit... the song gets me... every single time.

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Long time coming in another You yes you are love see no other Delicate dandelion seed blows to wish I stumble found upon final assemble of shattered dish Clocks tut tick tock as our stew so brews thick Lengthy shower of a boiler ripe Yearn to bathe two throw hours Dance with me in the water love I, You, scrub scour sequins and shine Fanfare play, kettle boil, whistle at the last post Lemon squeeze on a salad zest Michelin star, fruitful spray Dust wiped to shine in one tenth a day Impy ink I'm writing cursive And quite kinda neat in a waited change

0

Sep 27, 2015

Sep 27, 2015 at 2:55 AM UTC

Long time coming in another You yes you are love see no other Delicate dandelion seed blows to wish I stumble found upon final assemble of shattered dish Clocks tut tick tock as our stew so brews thick Lengthy shower of a boiler ripe Yearn to bathe two throw hours Dance with me in the water love I, You, scrub scour sequins and shine Fanfare play, kettle boil, whistle at the last post Lemon squeeze on a salad zest Michelin star, fruitful spray Dust wiped to shine in one tenth a day Impy ink I'm writing cursive And quite kinda neat in a waited change

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not much of a story... it's only half past 10, and it's a saturday... but i have two litres of dark *** with me, and a bottle of hoisin sauce... shit's gonna get dangerous down in the kitchen... some pork is going to get slaughtered... and if i get my hands on some booker t. and the mg's? and then fry some rice, and add some eggs? you're going to be talking to marlon brando... without the cotton-balls stuffed into his cheeks to speak, like he spoke, when filming the godfather... could have smoked 20 packets of marlboros... and you'd still get the huskies... and the sledge... and a holiday in alaska... never mind. hoisin sauce though? that's the dog's ******** it goes down well with duck... chicken? to bland... but i'm guessing will pork will go down well with the sauce. otherwise? z.z. top me... i only learned yesterday, what a boilermaker was... apparently a shot of whiskey followed by a beer... nothing quiete like al pacino in the 1971 film, the panic in needle park... this is going to be a feast... i can feel it... what do michelin star chefs eat when they get home? some simple grub... probably egg on toast... i hardly think they're spectacular in their choice of edibles to replicate their restaurant outputs... for them it's probably like: if it ain't done in 15 minutes... i'm not eating it. hoisin? yep, that's to replace the sweet chili sauce. then there's the 2 litres of *** well... i'm pretty sure one of the litres is for tomorrow.

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May 13, 2017

May 13, 2017 at 5:38 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

buying hoisin sauce

not much of a story... it's only half past 10, and it's a saturday... but i have two litres of dark *** with me, and a bottle of hoisin sauce... shit's gonna get dangerous down in the kitchen... some pork is going to get slaughtered... and if i get my hands on some booker t. and the mg's? and then fry some rice, and add some eggs? you're going to be talking to marlon brando... without the cotton-balls stuffed into his cheeks to speak, like he spoke, when filming the godfather... could have smoked 20 packets of marlboros... and you'd still get the huskies... and the sledge... and a holiday in alaska... never mind. hoisin sauce though? that's the dog's ******** it goes down well with duck... chicken? to bland... but i'm guessing will pork will go down well with the sauce. otherwise? z.z. top me... i only learned yesterday, what a boilermaker was... apparently a shot of whiskey followed by a beer... nothing quiete like al pacino in the 1971 film, the panic in needle park... this is going to be a feast... i can feel it... what do michelin star chefs eat when they get home? some simple grub... probably egg on toast... i hardly think they're spectacular in their choice of edibles to replicate their restaurant outputs... for them it's probably like: if it ain't done in 15 minutes... i'm not eating it. hoisin? yep, that's to replace the sweet chili sauce. then there's the 2 litres of *** well... i'm pretty sure one of the litres is for tomorrow.

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We sat stoically together connected by thin rope on the tongue of the glacier. Wrapped in warm feathers like Michelin-men, we deciphered the operation of crampons & giggled maniacally about doing it with stone-blue fingertips. Headlamps glowed as starlight glittered off the ice wall facing us, leaving traces of a million suns burned into my retinas. Frozen snot clung to my moustache like hungry ticks and all I could think of was sticking to the plan. A short jaunt across sixty-degree slick-glass, then over the moraine for eight hours straight up, zigzagging to Heaven. And standing ten minutes in that sacred place, we'd kiss cloud zephyrs, dole out high fives with splitting headaches, crack huge smiles with ****** noses taking Kodak moments before the six-hour descent to hot chicken soup.

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Apr 5, 2015

Apr 5, 2015 at 5:40 PM UTC

A Memory of My Visit To Heaven

We sat stoically together connected by thin rope on the tongue of the glacier. Wrapped in warm feathers like Michelin-men, we deciphered the operation of crampons & giggled maniacally about doing it with stone-blue fingertips. Headlamps glowed as starlight glittered off the ice wall facing us, leaving traces of a million suns burned into my retinas. Frozen snot clung to my moustache like hungry ticks and all I could think of was sticking to the plan. A short jaunt across sixty-degree slick-glass, then over the moraine for eight hours straight up, zigzagging to Heaven. And standing ten minutes in that sacred place, we'd kiss cloud zephyrs, dole out high fives with splitting headaches, crack huge smiles with ****** noses taking Kodak moments before the six-hour descent to hot chicken soup.

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the speed of light is 299792458 m/s edgar allan poe was born in boston, massachusetts string theory is a theoretical framework in which the point-like particles of particle physics are replaced by one-dimensional objects called strings sukiyabashi jiro is a michelin three star restaurant in ginza, chūō, tokyo, japan and yet i use this ability to listen to sad music and think about how much i miss you

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May 13, 2014

May 13, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC

the information age

the speed of light is 299792458 m/s edgar allan poe was born in boston, massachusetts string theory is a theoretical framework in which the point-like particles of particle physics are replaced by one-dimensional objects called strings sukiyabashi jiro is a michelin three star restaurant in ginza, chūō, tokyo, japan and yet i use this ability to listen to sad music and think about how much i miss you

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You will learn to love her If you see through her top-shelf liquor Lined with velvet and neon lights Pinning her to the spotlight. If you see past through her Michelin dining bills, and Red sole stilettos clicking on marble. A girl who cries on the train, who cooks at midnight for the homeless. Money was all she got given, so she tried to stay afloat. But you will learn to love her When you see her dance in your shirt. Bat her eyes and tug your sleeves. Face lit up with an ice cream. Smelling the wild rose on the fields. You will learn to love her. When you see after glitter and champagne. She will be the faithful one coming home. Stilettos in hand, not to wake you. Slipping into your bed. Kiss you on your cheek Keeps you warm.

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Jan 21, 2018

Jan 21, 2018 at 8:08 AM UTC

You will learn to love her

You will learn to love her If you see through her top-shelf liquor Lined with velvet and neon lights Pinning her to the spotlight. If you see past through her Michelin dining bills, and Red sole stilettos clicking on marble. A girl who cries on the train, who cooks at midnight for the homeless. Money was all she got given, so she tried to stay afloat. But you will learn to love her When you see her dance in your shirt. Bat her eyes and tug your sleeves. Face lit up with an ice cream. Smelling the wild rose on the fields. You will learn to love her. When you see after glitter and champagne. She will be the faithful one coming home. Stilettos in hand, not to wake you. Slipping into your bed. Kiss you on your cheek Keeps you warm.

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I am overcome with a sense of dread An honest feeling I have never felt It lingers and it strays But it always comes to me In a moment of clarity I grabbed it To set it free If I weren’t so caught in the act Of thinking what I should do next I might have lived differently I might have sounded out a spontaneous Yes To the question of taking leaps Swimming in the seas Where no feelings had to be hurt To be seen I could’ve been an addict Or a Michelin chef I could have fallen for sporadics Been a sycophant for antics But remembering fake days Is what I live for now Not as sad as it seems I just wish I had followed A better dream

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Jul 12, 2018

Jul 12, 2018 at 3:13 AM UTC

Coulda, woulda, shoulda

I am overcome with a sense of dread An honest feeling I have never felt It lingers and it strays But it always comes to me In a moment of clarity I grabbed it To set it free If I weren’t so caught in the act Of thinking what I should do next I might have lived differently I might have sounded out a spontaneous Yes To the question of taking leaps Swimming in the seas Where no feelings had to be hurt To be seen I could’ve been an addict Or a Michelin chef I could have fallen for sporadics Been a sycophant for antics But remembering fake days Is what I live for now Not as sad as it seems I just wish I had followed A better dream

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The girl at the check out Clutching the chips and dollar Gives me an ache Like a warning shot In my stomach. The boy keeping up Behind his brothers Gives me an ache Like filling a balloon To capacity. The girl on duel-bladed skates Bundled like the Michelin Man Pushing a chair Gives me an ache Like a rip in my father's heart. The one on the hall floor Eating before his locker As the gang's off to McDonald's Gives me an ache Like an airborne ball As the buzzer sounds. The one in the corner of the class, With cuffs pulled down And a tattooed razor blade On the back of the neck Worries me.

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Dec 9, 2014

Dec 9, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC

The girl at the check out Clutching the chips and dollar Gives me an ache Like a warning shot In my stomach. The boy keeping up Behind his brothers Gives me an ache Like filling a balloon To capacity. The girl on duel-bladed skates Bundled like the Michelin Man Pushing a chair Gives me an ache Like a rip in my father's heart. The one on the hall floor Eating before his locker As the gang's off to McDonald's Gives me an ache Like an airborne ball As the buzzer sounds. The one in the corner of the class, With cuffs pulled down And a tattooed razor blade On the back of the neck Worries me.

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I must have been out of my mind- vacationing in Palestine. It was temptingly cheap to make the trip And hotels on the Gaza Strip Are affordable to all, - Just three hours’ drive from the Wailing Wall. I’d rent a car but I’m out of luck. No, I do not wish to rent a truck. With streets so cratered I understand Why folks call this the “holy Land” This land where swarthy men in sheets Hold daily protests in the streets. This land where nightly rockets roar, There are no bars or package stores. I should have checked the Michelin guide! For now I have to run and hide Next year I will avoid this war And stay back home on the Jersey shore!

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Aug 6, 2014

Aug 6, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC

john-f-mccullagh

Stranger in a Stranger land

I must have been out of my mind- vacationing in Palestine. It was temptingly cheap to make the trip And hotels on the Gaza Strip Are affordable to all, - Just three hours’ drive from the Wailing Wall. I’d rent a car but I’m out of luck. No, I do not wish to rent a truck. With streets so cratered I understand Why folks call this the “holy Land” This land where swarthy men in sheets Hold daily protests in the streets. This land where nightly rockets roar, There are no bars or package stores. I should have checked the Michelin guide! For now I have to run and hide Next year I will avoid this war And stay back home on the Jersey shore!

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a man and the household, and how a woman should run one; please don't... i rather cook my own meals... and i don't mean 15 minute ready meals... i mean: tina turner poaching this lobster crying... type of meals... a... oh **** me... i'm getting all sentimental... i'm jizzing out tears into a hanky... hanley? no! a chief! a chief! it's the 1980's all over again... it was some you-tuber asking women to become housewives... no... no! please no! i want to cook my own food... women use too much salt! i can't stomach woman's cooking... i don't need that much salt! what, you had your arab ******* you live in the desert, right? you are all: alcohol is bad... ooh... alcohol... ba... ba... bad; alcohol dehyrdates you... you're in a desert... vectors? pointers? no? you don't drink alcohol in scandinavia to party.... you drink it so you don't end up eating snow. bangladeshi slaves working on the towers of dubai; fair enough, and the northern **** with the "mystcism" of the eastern wind... **** me! is that συλ(θ/φ)(υ/o)ρ γας? mustard? sulphur... or... one of them... how to be a good woman... cook for him! no... really... thank you... i'm not going to exactly cook a michelin duck... but now... i know how much salt i need... and now i'm going to listen to some tina turner, and feel like one-hundred-dollars... then i'll eat some food i prepared earlier... and try to fall asleep with a 9kg *maine **** ginger cat; so, hmm.

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May 14, 2017

May 14, 2017 at 6:46 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

συλ(θ/φ)(υ/o)ρ γας

a man and the household, and how a woman should run one; please don't... i rather cook my own meals... and i don't mean 15 minute ready meals... i mean: tina turner poaching this lobster crying... type of meals... a... oh **** me... i'm getting all sentimental... i'm jizzing out tears into a hanky... hanley? no! a chief! a chief! it's the 1980's all over again... it was some you-tuber asking women to become housewives... no... no! please no! i want to cook my own food... women use too much salt! i can't stomach woman's cooking... i don't need that much salt! what, you had your arab ******* you live in the desert, right? you are all: alcohol is bad... ooh... alcohol... ba... ba... bad; alcohol dehyrdates you... you're in a desert... vectors? pointers? no? you don't drink alcohol in scandinavia to party.... you drink it so you don't end up eating snow. bangladeshi slaves working on the towers of dubai; fair enough, and the northern **** with the "mystcism" of the eastern wind... **** me! is that συλ(θ/φ)(υ/o)ρ γας? mustard? sulphur... or... one of them... how to be a good woman... cook for him! no... really... thank you... i'm not going to exactly cook a michelin duck... but now... i know how much salt i need... and now i'm going to listen to some tina turner, and feel like one-hundred-dollars... then i'll eat some food i prepared earlier... and try to fall asleep with a 9kg *maine **** ginger cat; so, hmm.

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Its like a theory And I can't take it too seriously My resistance To an existence A life of blind deaf and dumb From my toes upwards, slowly numb People rushing away with thoughts of how we should be organised into containerised species Nothing better than your own choice of incarceration and a menu full of Michelin five star rated faeces A box of goodies, all labelled quite clearly, 'this ones not for you, please pick again' So as the world invents the reason to define, as they give to us purpose via a responsible methodical tried and tested path I will endeavour on my own , pay as much attention to the system as it pays to me, and remember to always smile and laugh,

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Jun 21, 2016

Jun 21, 2016 at 2:51 PM UTC

nico-papayiannis

Its like a theory And I can't take it too seriously My resistance To an existence A life of blind deaf and dumb From my toes upwards, slowly numb People rushing away with thoughts of how we should be organised into containerised species Nothing better than your own choice of incarceration and a menu full of Michelin five star rated faeces A box of goodies, all labelled quite clearly, 'this ones not for you, please pick again' So as the world invents the reason to define, as they give to us purpose via a responsible methodical tried and tested path I will endeavour on my own , pay as much attention to the system as it pays to me, and remember to always smile and laugh,

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Found the meat on the road, tenderized by the Michelin man it's not all that much to behold, but hey, we do all that we can Thinking it would go well, with a nice California Cabernet the taste pretty swell, with fresh garlic, harvested today Some field onion, with cracked pepper, and of course organic sage sauteed in butter with new grunion, I've heard, it's all the rage Placed upon bone china, white flowered table cloth, the stage set there for the diner, to peruse, and ultimately assuage Hiding in the kitchen, after taking out remains unaware they are observed, as my laughter is restrained Serving up the best, road-kill hors-d-oeuvre and mystery al-a-mien

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Feb 23, 2018

Feb 23, 2018 at 8:16 AM UTC

Slightly Treaded Cuisine

Found the meat on the road, tenderized by the Michelin man it's not all that much to behold, but hey, we do all that we can Thinking it would go well, with a nice California Cabernet the taste pretty swell, with fresh garlic, harvested today Some field onion, with cracked pepper, and of course organic sage sauteed in butter with new grunion, I've heard, it's all the rage Placed upon bone china, white flowered table cloth, the stage set there for the diner, to peruse, and ultimately assuage Hiding in the kitchen, after taking out remains unaware they are observed, as my laughter is restrained Serving up the best, road-kill hors-d-oeuvre and mystery al-a-mien

Continue reading...