Pizzaman #2: THE NAME
Who is another question, but perhaps you are kind of curious about my name. My name depends on many things: mainly You.
A human sees only what they do. A human does not come here lightly and does not see what they do. Will you work things out? For us? Do you know what we’re missing?
Pizzaman does. Uh-huh.
Pizzaman is a long blunder that the world can bear and be, less cheesy, less greasy, less insane, less soothing than those upward deep dives to the bottom through pantheons of weird fishes and then drinking deep from the bubbly cup of bliss, the sweet cola, bubbles popping to the tune of Ave Maria, before someone picked us up to take us somewhere nice.
My face: that is something, a thing, you don’t want to know about it now, but I’ll tell you one thing: a face is a face is a face, like counting — 1, 2, 3 — like garlic oil to a healthy human being who hasn’t been inured yet.
I can’t remember so well life before the mask: great plains, not the pizza ones as now, but golden. And there were trash cans and alley ways. We loved the dirty city; And the journeys away from it.
We? That is something that is nearly forgotten. Like a mashed potato lover all the world once did seem a friend, to me. And then… well, a departure. Pizzaman had a mask and was Pizzaman. Put on by people who cared so much. That is how things go here. Always changing. It suits us. We’re just that kind of people.
cave paintings made on TRIXEL