So long, and thanks for all the fish. By the time you read this I shall sadly no longer be with you. Thank you for all the “likes” and comments, and …Nothing penultimate about this one…
How, why, normal?
Who says what’s?
Mine’s as mine as my foot size.
Defined, solidified by National Geographic
Boxes and shelves of people who almost must exist, sort of, because there are pictures
They sorta exist
You know, to be in here, to strike me
Look at that!
So I can dig in the boxes for the most shocking naked, huge, wrinkly, big bright feathery, tiny, adorable or sinking bony.
Curious dark friendly eyes slanting behind skins and furs
Naked painted long breasted moms
All that stuff on their heads taller is than they are
why would anyone move like that?
And in public.
Measuring the world with my foot.
Or, How “writing” yourself into a resume pins you down and wraps you into a neat tied up package.
How to Not Be a Pre-Wrapped Deliverable.
It’s that “resume” part of jobbing I wanna elbow the hell aside, punch out then tear past whooping.
I feel myself speed out of the stupor of conformity into the real, whatever it really is.
The thought of that octupussy pandora’s trap makes my skin crawl. That squirmy zombie octopus has a super power possessing shadow side.
It’s designing dangerous and only alive in the insidious way of all deadly systems are alive.
It’s, it’s not natural.
It’s not actually alive. And it’s not part of the beauty of the ocean. It’s a monster.
It’s the sweet lost ghosts of distant past I grew out of. Memories. Fantoms meant to predict the future. When they don’t.
It’s the past with it’s claws dug into my future’s neck. It pins down what’s alive and chokes it into zombie hood.
Thee looming boredom of repeating the past hurts my soul’s teeth like scraping them slowly all the way down that familiar chalkboard.
Designing my own restrictions trying to do again what I did well before takes me back to being naughty.
“No go pick me a willow to spank you with.”
You are supposed to be choosing the stinging green willow branch to whip red marks onto the backs of your bare legs.
This ends as it begins. Like writing a resume.
I’d rather go put on some stipper shoes.
How do you get invited back?
Here’s a skill that works for every one every time.
Well, every time unless you talk 90 and listen 10. In that case there’s nothing can save you.
Wanna know how to get invited back if you also know how to listen?
Want lots of people to notice when you show up?
Here’s how: Bring The Salsa!
Not just any old salsa. The Salsa. Don’t even think I’m talking about any random you snatch up on the way last minute to not show up empty handed. Not this or that restaurant recipe works real magic.
Whatever jar of chunky tomato matter off the shelf, even a gourmet brand, your thinking of has no relation to this discussion.
Most homemade salsas aren’t secret weapons either.
This here is the secret weapon.
This and a bag of chips will have people calling ahead to see if you’ve arrived yet.
It’s not expensive. It’s love.
It’s also simple.
After years of getting asked: How do make that amazing salsa you brought? And me telling, showing, and writing it on scraps or on napkins or note paper or texting it. I also wrote it in cards as a gift, and shared it with guests. I finally wrote it down again. This time after texting it for the fifth time to one of my nieces. She urgenly requests it when she needs to make a splash. I finally just wrote it out and snapped a picture to send out as needed. Just this morning. For good.
Cuz last night Rachel, that’s my niece, requested it and I sent the tips and secrets to her in seven texts. ”Remember to not add water!” kind of texts.
So, I finally wrote the whole thing clearly after lots of practice and lots of crumpled paper. I also got to use my new fountain pen for something special.
I just texted a shot of this, finally. This written-down-for-the-first-time salsa recipe, to my sister Sasha. She’s one who let’s me know when and where she’s gonna be and reminds me how much she loves my salsa and how she hopes…Every time she visits from LA.
And no, she can’t get salsa this amazing at even the best Mexican restaurant. What’s worse, she thinks this particular salsa is an enigma and only I can work it out.
A minute after I send her this recipe she responds:
”Is that how you make the best salsa in the world?”
Yep. That’s how I do it.
Sasha isn’t a bad cook herself.
But with this magic salsa, God is in the details. So is good taste.
Follow the directions. Without substituting garlic salt or canned tomatoes as unless you’re good with seeing your friends eyes glaze over. The universal sign of broken dreams. If you can’t get fresh ingredients delivered, just say your you didn’t hide it well enough and your other friends, kids, siblings found it. They will be incensed and feel cheated, but they’ll understand. Careful to blame it on characters they’re not likely to meet socially like the dog, no Santa, it can get awkward when they call out your presumably innocent roommate for ruining that one party.
Do it right.
Then stand back and watch your friends crowd around the dip bowls and all conversation go silent till the salsa runs out.
And “Where’s the Salsa?” replaces conversation.
Is there any more of this guac?” becomes the topic. It leads to serous inquiries. Don’t be alarmed by the determined expressions of the those inquiring into where that salsa came from. Be ready when inquiries lead back to you.
Remember you’re not responsible for all the people who didn’t get some. How they feel when everyone who got some won’t stop bragging isn’t your fault.
Bragging about the best damn salsa they ever tasted, and too bad for you it’s gone, is a natural human reaction to being on the winning side.
All you can do is promise to double the recipe next time.
See. That’s it. Next time. You’re in.
The word speeds fast. You’ll be asked around so you can pick and choose.
This magic only works made fresh.
If you can pull this off and all is going smooth and your ready to up your game Upgrade your salsa.
For just a few dollars more you can turn the Best Salsa in the World to the best Guacamole in the Word.
All it takes is two or three ripe Hass Avocados cubed or smashed and lightly folded into some or all of the salsa.
The effects though blow every ones’ taste buds. So save it for when you really want the attention.
Be advised though. Once you upgrade prepared to stay upgraded. Or people will start wondering if you really do love them after all.
Tomatoes can be blackened and peppers blackened and peeled and in advance and refrigerated for up to three days.
Garlic paste and especially avocado only happen fresh.
This salsa makes unknown numbers of people show up to parties who otherwise wouldn’t. It starts conversation, facilitates connection and keeps friends coming together. So it keeps friendships growing and community strong.
Friends will call to ask if there’s still guacamole.
No? We’ll see you time then.
That’s just one of the risks of a community run on your salsa.
The advantages though are immense.
Hence this is my contribution to world peace.
It can not be mass produced.
Only you can bring it. Fresh for your friends.
Next people will try bottling friendship.
This recipe’s also linked up like network marketing.
Every time you bring salsa or guacamole joy to your friends I score.
I accumulate them karmic points off your efforts. I’m sure they are added up somewhere.
So get out there roast, peel, smash smoosh and serve up some happiness-with chips.
Make me rich!
Oh, and world peace and all that too…
What’s so good?
What do I do?
Here I am updating my LinkedIn profile, and back to being twelve.
I feel like my kid-self gushing to my kid sister:
Look what I can do!
See what I just did?
Her forehead wrinkles.
Her eyes drain. She cocks her brow.
Her chin turns up and her mouth turns down.
She looks away. Then turns back with a disinterest and
Her and LinkedIn, both.
What have you been doing for the last few years?
What’s so good about that?
Yeah. But, what’s so good?
LinkedIn’s haughty smug questionnaires are a different kind of third degree.
Why, only that?
That doesn’t answer the question.
From when to when, and what exactly?
How does that add up?
I’m painting myself into a corner. My instinct is to back away from these intimidating forms trying to get me to trim myself down into a formula.
What are your accomplishments?
Even if I had been working at a conventional job for the past few years, I still wouldn’t up-sale my heroic accomplishments like most guys would.
I’d still be down-playing my worth and value like as many woman do.
What have you been doing for the last few years?
Do you really wanna know?
I didn’t think so.
Of this sadness
Joy in profile
Of the wall
When darkness is thick
Creamy and sweet
Your tongue is alive
It climbs up your feet
All wrapped in the moment
A being of taste
Is it what you are now
From what you have faced?