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I shouldn't be allowed

In the kitchen, that is. I shouldn't be allowed.

Tonight I decided to go all creative with my dinner, and whip up something vaguely Mexi-Southwest-Native-what-teh-fuck... I have no idea. Frankendinner - that's what I created. I took out all my frustrations of the past couple of days on my evening meal, and made what I thought was a clever, spicy little casserole. And in my hubris, I thought it needed a few FISTFULS of chili pepper flakes. I mean, they're flakes - they're flakey, they're not really the same thing as giant glistening shanks of habaneros, right? Right? RIGHT?

Anyway, after the first mouthful - that is to say, after I stopped screaming and writhing on the floor like an epileptic in the full throws of the grand mal seizure to end all seizures, I decided that maybe I'd thrown in a few too many fistfuls of chili pepper flakes. Ya think? I've cried my contact lenses right out of my swollen eyes, but I've managed to stuff my puffy tongue almost all the way back into my pain-wracked mouth. Needless to say, this dish wasn't quite the success I thought it'd be. On the other hand, my pineal gland has completely opened, and I've been in constant contact with most of the major Elder Gods for the past hour or so. Also, I can travel through space and time, and I now know how to fashion dark matter into really cool gothy dresses, all the better with which to drape my shapeshifting bones in. In other words, I'm hooked on the spicy shit.

The moral of this story? Never underestimate the power of the humble chile pepper flake. Also, don't ever accept an invitation to eat dinner with anyone named "Livia". History doesn't bode well for you - unless you're already an Elder God, that is. Then it's cool.

Marine Autumn

I owe you marine autumn
With dankness at its roots
and fog like a grape
and the graceful sun of the country;
and the silent space
in which sorrows lose themselves
and only the bright crown
of joy comes to the surface.

--Pablo Neruda.

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