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2005-01-12
hash-fried on high

I'm a foodie.
I think about writing.
Menus planned in my mind are filled with fresh-herb-hip and homestyle-tasty bloggitry; organic entries I proceed to trash with my "hash-fried on high in a dollar store skillet, and don't spare the lard" approach:

it's
rumination ruination.
like now. like this.

Blackened bruschetta.
Curdled cream soup.
Phyllo dense as Mcbreakfast Mcbricks.
Incredible moments inedibly spiced.
Over-done. Over-ripe. Tripe.

That's right.
I boil the milk,
warp the pan,
forget to skim the foam.
I chew the fat.
I soufflé flat.

I too-long knead the dough.


anamomda serves a slurry of slow-cooked words stewed in a cracked crockpot.

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