I made a Pizza.
I made a Pizza.
I woke up around 4:30 pm
Still dragging on the lasting effects
Of the melatonin overdose
Everything in slow motion.
But the dreaming was worth it
I wanted to eat.
I slept enough so the grave shift wont
kill me
not enough for a normal person
but us grave workers are far from the norm
Secluded
wanting, needing
always dreaming
when others are living
drunk offa’ sleeping pills
and/or booze
when others are at walmart buying diapers
or hanging out with friends
there’s a big part of me though
that likes living in my dreams
but always thinking,
how did I get here?
Better make the best of it.
And god damn
Its hard finding gold in shit.
As said before
I needed food.
Walked inside my fridge
Not a walk in
But I did have to dig
And found my whole wheat dough mix
My tofurkey Italian sausage
And my soy cheese
½ a jar of tomato sauce
Like a ninja turtle would say
(good movie)
It’s pizza time.
I sliced and sautéed the sausage
Added some spices and hot sauce
Habanero
Then mixed and kneaded my dough
Flattened the fat brown blob with my rolling pin
I’m not talented enough to toss the dough in the air
I now respect the fuck out of those pro pizza makers
Fresh outta high school
And already being culinary professionals
If only the schools regarded pizza making an art
As I do.
None the less,
I oiled my pan
Tossed in some peppers and fake meats
Fake cheeses
And commenced to bake
On TV. there was a man in Ecuador eating worms
Piranhas, and empanadas
I’d host the show better than that fuck
But then again I wouldn’t be a vegetarian
Pizzas done
Took her out
The dough was hard on the outside
Soft on the in
Just like I like it.
Ate a couple of slices and thought
“I’d like to chill outside with myself”
Got my keys, shades, cigarettes and lighter
Poured myself a stein sized mug of
Sailor jerry’s rum
With a shot of coke
And enjoyed myself on the front patio
Bukowski joined me
Whenever does he not?
I read the Bukoswki reader
A greatest hits of sorts
Yet chronologically in order
Short stories, & poems
Biographically in order though the years
A great way to learn about a person you respect
Through their art,
as they progressed
artistically
As a god
As hope
My mother pulled into the drive way
Walked up to me
Cheerily
“What are you doing?”
“Reading”
“what’s that?”
“soda”
“your not my baby any more”
“so stop treating me like one”
she walked in the house
and I finished my last spirit and packed up for the evening
Walked inside
“Baby, did you make a nice pizza? Can I have some?”
“Of course, this time I cooked the fake meat before I baked the pizza”
---Alex Morais
I woke up around 4:30 pm
Still dragging on the lasting effects
Of the melatonin overdose
Everything in slow motion.
But the dreaming was worth it
I wanted to eat.
I slept enough so the grave shift wont
kill me
not enough for a normal person
but us grave workers are far from the norm
Secluded
wanting, needing
always dreaming
when others are living
drunk offa’ sleeping pills
and/or booze
when others are at walmart buying diapers
or hanging out with friends
there’s a big part of me though
that likes living in my dreams
but always thinking,
how did I get here?
Better make the best of it.
And god damn
Its hard finding gold in shit.
As said before
I needed food.
Walked inside my fridge
Not a walk in
But I did have to dig
And found my whole wheat dough mix
My tofurkey Italian sausage
And my soy cheese
½ a jar of tomato sauce
Like a ninja turtle would say
(good movie)
It’s pizza time.
I sliced and sautéed the sausage
Added some spices and hot sauce
Habanero
Then mixed and kneaded my dough
Flattened the fat brown blob with my rolling pin
I’m not talented enough to toss the dough in the air
I now respect the fuck out of those pro pizza makers
Fresh outta high school
And already being culinary professionals
If only the schools regarded pizza making an art
As I do.
None the less,
I oiled my pan
Tossed in some peppers and fake meats
Fake cheeses
And commenced to bake
On TV. there was a man in Ecuador eating worms
Piranhas, and empanadas
I’d host the show better than that fuck
But then again I wouldn’t be a vegetarian
Pizzas done
Took her out
The dough was hard on the outside
Soft on the in
Just like I like it.
Ate a couple of slices and thought
“I’d like to chill outside with myself”
Got my keys, shades, cigarettes and lighter
Poured myself a stein sized mug of
Sailor jerry’s rum
With a shot of coke
And enjoyed myself on the front patio
Bukowski joined me
Whenever does he not?
I read the Bukoswki reader
A greatest hits of sorts
Yet chronologically in order
Short stories, & poems
Biographically in order though the years
A great way to learn about a person you respect
Through their art,
as they progressed
artistically
As a god
As hope
My mother pulled into the drive way
Walked up to me
Cheerily
“What are you doing?”
“Reading”
“what’s that?”
“soda”
“your not my baby any more”
“so stop treating me like one”
she walked in the house
and I finished my last spirit and packed up for the evening
Walked inside
“Baby, did you make a nice pizza? Can I have some?”
“Of course, this time I cooked the fake meat before I baked the pizza”
---Alex Morais