03-30-2016, 01:05 PM
  • kav
  • Banned
  • east of the sun,west of the moon
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My water was  off  this morning. I just  shaved. I wanted to finish off the remaining bits in my Tempete but wound up picking them out and grating into the fresh ash wood container with puck. I was going to discard the Loufa and wash the bowl for the next puck. I pulled it out  loaded with yet more soap. I pressed this remaining bit out for one more lather. Some soaps seem to sputter and flicker like a dying candle in those last bits with faded scent and sometimes performance. Not so with the assmilk. Had it fermented like a mare's milk drink from the orient? I finally smelled all the individual scents described after only enjoying a good black pepper for months. The lather embraced my brush like a
French parlour painting of lovers. I lathered. I shaved. It was- drinking the last shot of  stolen Mescal in High School deep in a lemon orchard and my Chicano friend Luis telling me it was traditional to eat the gusanao. I did and that healthy lunch steadied my stomach if not feet for the walk home.
I'm going to hold off the milk for awhile, maybe use some other wonderful soaps I've neglected. I'll let the new puck sit for awhile, like a bottle of Mescal with the Gusanao in the bottom waiting patiently.

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 03-30-2016, 01:08 PM
  • Agravic
  • Emeritus
  • Pennsylvania, USA
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Very nice, kav.

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 03-30-2016, 01:40 PM
  • evnpar
  • Emeritus
  • Portland, Oregon
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I would have never thought of putting "assmilk" with "French parlor painting of lovers," but you did it beautifully.

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