10.30.2009
It's the first day of spring
And my life is starting over again
The trees grow, the river flows
And its water will wash away my sins
For I do believe that everyone has one chance
To fuck up their lives
But like a cut down tree, I will rise again
And I'll be bigger and stronger than ever before
For I'm still here hoping that one day you may come back
For I'm still here hoping that one day you may come back
There's a hope in every new seed
And every flower that grows upon the earth
And though I love you, and you know that
Well I no longer know what that's worth
But I'll come back to you in a year or so
And I'll rebuild, be ready to become
Oh the person, you believed in
Oh the person, that you used to love
For I'm still here hoping that one day you may come back
For I'm still here hoping that one day you may come back
10.29.2009
revisited one of my most cherished childhood movies.... about dragqueens
wesley snipes, patrick swayze, and the tremendous john leguizamo in "to wong foo, thanks for everything, julie newmar"
Amy: havent you seen high fidelity
me: no...i have not
Amy: WHAHAATHTHTHATHT
me: oh get over it
Amy: wow
me: i mean ill watch it if someone puts it in my hands but i havent come across it and everyones seen it so i have no opportunity.
Amy: i see. i could quote from it. not too many movies like that for me
me: there are a few for me....birdcage
Amy: haha
me: to wong foo thanks for everything julie newmar...wait why are all the movies i love with dragqueens?
Amy: you like the faggy movies eh
me: i saw each one when they first came out, as a CHILD my parents brought me to these movies because they wanted to see them... hard to believe. and i loved them then as i do now.
Amy: birdcage is my earliest understanding of homosexuality, i saw that in theatres
me: hah mine too see there you go. well not my eeeearliest understanding
Amy: in the burbs those were the only gay people i had seen
i think my parents regretted that :)
me: my/my mothers trainer when i was five or six was gay. when he died of AIDS my mother explained everything then. in her own way.
Amy: oh wow
me: there was a period there where the riding world was decimated. so i learned a lot then. but i think i knew -before i knew what gay was- that the people in my life were gay. horse people and art people... i dont remember what my first lesbian understanding was though, they were two different things completely. i remember when i was taught the word lesbian, it was whispered in my ear in second grade.
brought that one home and had it slapped out of me by my irish nanny :)
Amy: hah she didnt get it all out i guess
me: yeah, left a little.
10.28.2009
sweet squiggley sausage baked cheddar orgy
on a deadly boring call dreaming about making dinner tonight. I have a guest coming by who will have been in class all day so im hoping to make her something stick-to-your-ribs...slash brain?
anyway i definitely have mac n cheese on the brain so i've been reading some trusted blogs and combining their recipes based on what I have in the fridge/what i want in my mouth.
I'm sure i'll go off and screw with it in additional ways.
(serves 2)
*two small sweet sausage links, i think i have turkey/chicken/apple in the freezer
*1 big clove garlic, roasted in the oven whole or just mince it
*1/4 white or yellow onion, diced
*1/2 lb. pasta, i have the squiggly kind currently in my cupboard, hence the name. not to be confused with rotini
*some dried sage, thyme, nutmeg, whatever youve got thats tasty
*1 big tbsp. butter
*1 heaping tbsp. flour
*3/4 cup whole milk, or more if its not whole...but man up and make it whole
*1/2 cup white wine
*1 cup grated sharp cheddar
*breadcrumbs & grated parmesan, for topping
preheat oven to 375.
roast the garlic
boil the pasta, al dente. set aside
cut sausage into 1/4 inch pieces, sautee with olive oil until slightly crispy
while thats happening melt butter in a pot
add roasted garlic (mash or mince)
and onion, sauteeing until translucent
add flour and let cook for 2-3 minutes, stirring constantly
add spices and 1/2 cup of white wine, stirring
add milk slowly, whisking constantly to create a bechamel
remove from heat and stir in grated cheese
toss pasta with sauce and the sausage pieces
pour everything into a buttered dish
top with breadcrumbs and parmesan
dot with butter if you feel like you havent quite acheived a heart attack yet
bake in oven for 20 minutes or until bubbly and browned
i'll post a picture later if it comes out!
if it doesnt come out youll never bring it up with me again. understood.
10.27.2009
Bibliomorphic
Things that are shaped like books but are not books
Abound. One leaf opens over another.
The folding-chairs are books manqués, no doubt,
Though only when unfolded for the booths,
And only such in this folding, defeated poem,
Which will not be, even by a reader, repeated.
Bebe Rebozo is a name shaped like a book,
Book him, you serifs, before he gets away,
Though who he wasn’t we otherwise don’t remember
(Our synapses are fading now and yellowing like books.)
A box of candies open, a laptop, a sandwich,
All of these are (sort of) like books, at least for now.
The body is bibliomorphic, symmetrical,
Libriform, and lasts about as long as a paperback.
So is the butterfly in this novel and that.
The universe, book-formed, has a central seam
For two great wings, star-marginalia visible
Only to those who have the right strength
Reading-glasses, and the minuscule g
Turned on its side is a bicycle, ant, or book.
Books are Kabbalahform, cubic, Kaabaesque.
They take part in the night-closing of the shops.
-- Jim Dolot
Abound. One leaf opens over another.
The folding-chairs are books manqués, no doubt,
Though only when unfolded for the booths,
And only such in this folding, defeated poem,
Which will not be, even by a reader, repeated.
Bebe Rebozo is a name shaped like a book,
Book him, you serifs, before he gets away,
Though who he wasn’t we otherwise don’t remember
(Our synapses are fading now and yellowing like books.)
A box of candies open, a laptop, a sandwich,
All of these are (sort of) like books, at least for now.
The body is bibliomorphic, symmetrical,
Libriform, and lasts about as long as a paperback.
So is the butterfly in this novel and that.
The universe, book-formed, has a central seam
For two great wings, star-marginalia visible
Only to those who have the right strength
Reading-glasses, and the minuscule g
Turned on its side is a bicycle, ant, or book.
Books are Kabbalahform, cubic, Kaabaesque.
They take part in the night-closing of the shops.
-- Jim Dolot
10.23.2009
Two recently received PR pearls of wisdom
on the subject of getting a briefing out a reporter despite the lack of newsworthy news offered:
"drag them to the water and then hold their head under until they damn well drink"
on the subject of handling a difficult coworker, or anyone:
"begin every response with 'I totally agree,' after that people pretty much stop listening and a few sentences later you can be saying, 'youre an idiot obviously im not going to do anything you say' and they wont even hear you."
"drag them to the water and then hold their head under until they damn well drink"
on the subject of handling a difficult coworker, or anyone:
"begin every response with 'I totally agree,' after that people pretty much stop listening and a few sentences later you can be saying, 'youre an idiot obviously im not going to do anything you say' and they wont even hear you."
10.22.2009
ongoing draft, once again untitled.
i dream relentlessly
it's always the night we paused at the edge
of the ravine by your house
you stared down into the concrete darkness
"we're nothing more than matches
at best we burn down to what holds us"
i heard you but I pointed out the bats erratic
shadows snuffing and relighting stars
i never knew what you saw at the bottom
I just knew better than to reach for you
but in the dream you hold me
and I burn.
it's always the night we paused at the edge
of the ravine by your house
you stared down into the concrete darkness
"we're nothing more than matches
at best we burn down to what holds us"
i heard you but I pointed out the bats erratic
shadows snuffing and relighting stars
i never knew what you saw at the bottom
I just knew better than to reach for you
but in the dream you hold me
and I burn.
10.21.2009
ever heard of a hair tree?
heals (12:42:57 PM): omg how gross is this
heals (12:43:05 PM): i was walking by that stupid hanging tree by kevs cube
heals (12:43:12 PM): and i have a HAIR hanging from a branch
heals (12:43:15 PM): isnt that NASTY.
heals (12:43:19 PM): it has to be mine. it's so long
heals (12:43:23 PM): mine or thekla's. wait.
daisy (12:43:34 PM): i love that you must have studied it to know this.
heals (12:43:51 PM): omg i just checked AGAIN.
daisy (12:49:17 PM): you just double checked the hair in the tree?
heals (12:49:25 PM): um yes.
heals (12:49:28 PM): i had to confirm the owner
daisy (12:49:47 PM): did you at least REMOVE said hair?
daisy (12:50:04 PM): ...you totally didnt!
daisy (12:50:09 PM): you left it hanging there like it's a hair tree!
heals (12:53:12 PM): daisy its message is twofold as it underscores 1) how not normal this place is. and 2) the tree landscaping desperately needed, as said tree is snatching hairs off our head.
daisy (12:53:31 PM): ellen this is such a wonderful conversation.
heals (12:43:05 PM): i was walking by that stupid hanging tree by kevs cube
heals (12:43:12 PM): and i have a HAIR hanging from a branch
heals (12:43:15 PM): isnt that NASTY.
heals (12:43:19 PM): it has to be mine. it's so long
heals (12:43:23 PM): mine or thekla's. wait.
daisy (12:43:34 PM): i love that you must have studied it to know this.
heals (12:43:51 PM): omg i just checked AGAIN.
daisy (12:49:17 PM): you just double checked the hair in the tree?
heals (12:49:25 PM): um yes.
heals (12:49:28 PM): i had to confirm the owner
daisy (12:49:47 PM): did you at least REMOVE said hair?
daisy (12:50:04 PM): ...you totally didnt!
daisy (12:50:09 PM): you left it hanging there like it's a hair tree!
heals (12:53:12 PM): daisy its message is twofold as it underscores 1) how not normal this place is. and 2) the tree landscaping desperately needed, as said tree is snatching hairs off our head.
daisy (12:53:31 PM): ellen this is such a wonderful conversation.
Synesthesia
check this "condition" out: synesthesia
im writing more on the topic later, for now this is just a place holder.
possible explanation for why purple screams at me? probably not but fascinating.
also, the quote that led me to the condition because the quotee...no quoter... anyway the guy who said it, Zamyatin, was apparently synesthetic:
It is said there are flowers that bloom only once in a hundred years. Why should there not be some that bloom once in a thousand, in ten thousand years? Perhaps we never knew about them simply because this "once in a thousand years" has come only today? - Yevgeny Zamyatin
10.20.2009
new favorite colleague.
This all started because shes coming to visit soon. so excited to finally put face to name. now all i need is to finally meet my best friend gay brother, chase. though after what perrin told me about the speedos in the below conversation, im not sure i can look at chase straight again.
who am i kidding. hes told me worse himself.
i do love these people.
BP (1:13:16 PM): i'll be stepping off the plane at 7:55 a.m.
BP (1:13:21 PM): so understand that i WILL look like shit
BP (1:13:22 PM): on stick
daisy (1:13:56 PM): thats how we roll around here no worries
daisy(1:14:00 PM): actually thats a blatent lie
daisy (1:14:06 PM): thekla always looks super euro chic
BP (1:14:12 PM): brunette bombshells
BP (1:14:16 PM): you'll meet california grunge
daisy (1:14:38 PM): vanessa insists on looking perfectly corporate and beautiful. thank god torrey wears jeans every day
BP (1:14:54 PM): i wear jeans daily
BP (1:14:58 PM): and i've started walking to work
BP (1:15:00 PM): which means
BP (1:15:02 PM): nikes
BP (1:15:06 PM): jeans
BP (1:15:07 PM): fleece
BP (1:15:21 PM): hiding whatever shirt i've dug up from the dredges of my drawers
BP (1:15:33 PM): makeup does not entirely exist from mon-fri
daisy (1:16:22 PM): i think well get along juuuuust fine.
daisy (1:16:35 PM): its hard out here for a non makeup wearer though between thekla and vanessa and ellen
daisy (1:16:45 PM): theyve given up on me. im the red headed step child.
BP (1:16:51 PM): HAHAAH
BP (1:16:53 PM): love
BP (1:16:58 PM): fuck this means i'll have to break it out
BP (1:16:59 PM): great.
BP (1:17:06 PM): at 5 a.m. my time
BP (1:17:08 PM): awesome.
BP (1:17:15 PM): yeah ellen seems way put together
BP (1:17:17 PM): that's great
BP (1:17:17 PM): really
BP (1:17:22 PM): i'll feel totally attractive
BP (1:17:28 PM): chewing my hair in the corner
daisy (1:17:31 PM): hahahahahh
BP (1:17:42 PM): you're laughing now
BP (1:17:44 PM): but you'll see
daisy(1:18:28 PM): i think ive seen pictures of you. i dont believe a word of this. youre just like them i bet. ellen says ohhh im such a MESS today and its only because instead of blowdrying AND ironing her hair after the gym PRE WORK she just blew it out
BP (1:18:45 PM): aahhhh!
BP (1:18:50 PM): not true!
BP (1:19:00 PM): let's illustrate
BP (1:19:03 PM): this morning - my hair
BP (1:19:07 PM): goes from sopping wet
BP (1:19:11 PM): into nasty bun
BP (1:19:24 PM): have i taken it down from said soppy nasty bun/pony?
BP (1:19:26 PM): nope
BP (1:19:32 PM): ran into some mascara
BP (1:19:42 PM): to give the illusion of having eyelashes at all
BP (1:20:04 PM): i am sweatingfrom the upper lip by the time i grace the offiice because i walk 3+ miles
BP (1:20:16 PM): thank god for no straight men in PR
daisy (1:21:16 PM): hahahah
daisy (1:21:26 PM): but see the gays judge too. chase is very judgy.
BP (1:21:51 PM): oh chase is totally judgy
daisy (1:21:52 PM): also vanessa just sent this to me. i recommend watching it later. HILARIOUS CAT VIDEO
BP (1:21:56 PM): ask him now how often i wash my hair
BP (1:21:59 PM): i'll wait
BP (1:22:06 PM): ask what he says about my general appearance
BP (1:22:11 PM): he saw me everyday for over a year
daisy (1:22:35 PM): asking. and pretty sure id turn his stomach.
daisy (1:22:51 PM): last week i did this thing they do in the magazines, "1 pair of pants, five ways!"
daisy (1:22:59 PM): except it was because i only had one pair of pants clean.
daisy (1:23:01 PM): beat that
BP (1:23:04 PM): HAHAHAHAAHA
BP (1:23:18 PM): you win for today
BP (1:23:25 PM): but only because you can't see my sloppy appearance
BP (1:24:06 PM): has chase answered you?
daisy (1:24:40 PM): he hasnt answered
daisy(1:25:04 PM): im not intimidated. ill pursue the truth.
daisy (1:26:28 PM): he just responded
daisy(1:26:30 PM): "eww"
BP (1:26:36 PM): and there you go
daisy (1:26:45 PM): and added does baby powder count to which i am replying YES
daisy (1:26:51 PM): and WHY DO YOU THINK I HAVE BP ON MY DESK
BP (1:27:01 PM): HAHAHAHA
daisy (1:27:31 PM): perrin, seriously, were on the same page here
BP (1:27:31 PM): you can tell him that helping to pick out no less than 7 of what can only be described as Speedo lights
BP (1:27:38 PM): for his gruise (gay cruise)
BP (1:27:49 PM): is more than compensation for my less than adequate appeareance
daisy (1:28:24 PM): I cant breathe im laughing so hard
BP (1:28:35 PM): aussie bums
BP (1:28:38 PM): i actually remember the brand
daisy (1:29:22 PM): did you GO WITH him or just see these online?!
BP (1:29:28 PM): picked out online
BP (1:29:31 PM): THEN got to see them
BP (1:29:36 PM): in their itty bitty packaging
daisy (1:29:46 PM): all kindas lines. crossed.
BP (1:29:48 PM): like i said
BP (1:29:50 PM): more than payment
daisy (1:30:29 PM): yeah. just.. yeah. thats pretty much a lifetime of favors right there.
daisy (1:31:32 PM): please drag chase with you to boston. hes been promising to come for like a year.
BP (1:34:15 PM): yes
BP (1:34:18 PM): i will force him
BP (1:34:19 PM): he likes that
BP (1:34:21 PM): oh god
BP (1:34:27 PM): that came across way wrong
daisy (1:35:28 PM): omg.
daisy (1:35:36 PM): if i were chase id say ROFL
daisy (1:35:44 PM): who even uses those acronyms.
BP (1:36:01 PM): dear satan help us all
daisy (1:36:11 PM): HA
daisy (1:36:23 PM): perrin you are kind of my new favorite person.
BP(1:36:45 PM): i have to say likewise my pet
daisy (1:37:06 PM): * beaming with dirty pride! *
BP (1:40:08 PM): go live with your slut.
daisy (1:40:22 PM): GASP
daisy (1:40:26 PM): what did he say?!
daisy (1:40:57 PM): HAHHH
daisy (1:41:06 PM): omg i thought you were commenting on something chase told you about me. then i realized you were just quoting the hilarious cat video.
BP (1:41:16 PM): hahaahahahah
daisy (1:41:34 PM): my favorite is
daisy (1:41:36 PM): i was a virgin
daisy (1:41:39 PM): WAS!!!!!!
BP (1:41:48 PM): YES
BP (1:42:53 PM): one last thing before i feign work
BP (1:42:54 PM): so
BP (1:43:01 PM): bc of the recession
BP (1:43:06 PM): and my poor retail choices
BP (1:43:13 PM): my sister and i are staying in boston with...
BP (1:43:20 PM): my freshman year college boyfriend
BP (1:43:21 PM): yep
BP (1:43:23 PM): that's right
BP (1:43:27 PM): new. low.
daisy (1:43:31 PM): a new low would be same pants six ways, this is just working the system, perrin, really. in my book, this is a win. :)
who am i kidding. hes told me worse himself.
i do love these people.
BP (1:13:16 PM): i'll be stepping off the plane at 7:55 a.m.
BP (1:13:21 PM): so understand that i WILL look like shit
BP (1:13:22 PM): on stick
daisy (1:13:56 PM): thats how we roll around here no worries
daisy(1:14:00 PM): actually thats a blatent lie
daisy (1:14:06 PM): thekla always looks super euro chic
BP (1:14:12 PM): brunette bombshells
BP (1:14:16 PM): you'll meet california grunge
daisy (1:14:38 PM): vanessa insists on looking perfectly corporate and beautiful. thank god torrey wears jeans every day
BP (1:14:54 PM): i wear jeans daily
BP (1:14:58 PM): and i've started walking to work
BP (1:15:00 PM): which means
BP (1:15:02 PM): nikes
BP (1:15:06 PM): jeans
BP (1:15:07 PM): fleece
BP (1:15:21 PM): hiding whatever shirt i've dug up from the dredges of my drawers
BP (1:15:33 PM): makeup does not entirely exist from mon-fri
daisy (1:16:22 PM): i think well get along juuuuust fine.
daisy (1:16:35 PM): its hard out here for a non makeup wearer though between thekla and vanessa and ellen
daisy (1:16:45 PM): theyve given up on me. im the red headed step child.
BP (1:16:51 PM): HAHAAH
BP (1:16:53 PM): love
BP (1:16:58 PM): fuck this means i'll have to break it out
BP (1:16:59 PM): great.
BP (1:17:06 PM): at 5 a.m. my time
BP (1:17:08 PM): awesome.
BP (1:17:15 PM): yeah ellen seems way put together
BP (1:17:17 PM): that's great
BP (1:17:17 PM): really
BP (1:17:22 PM): i'll feel totally attractive
BP (1:17:28 PM): chewing my hair in the corner
daisy (1:17:31 PM): hahahahahh
BP (1:17:42 PM): you're laughing now
BP (1:17:44 PM): but you'll see
daisy(1:18:28 PM): i think ive seen pictures of you. i dont believe a word of this. youre just like them i bet. ellen says ohhh im such a MESS today and its only because instead of blowdrying AND ironing her hair after the gym PRE WORK she just blew it out
BP (1:18:45 PM): aahhhh!
BP (1:18:50 PM): not true!
BP (1:19:00 PM): let's illustrate
BP (1:19:03 PM): this morning - my hair
BP (1:19:07 PM): goes from sopping wet
BP (1:19:11 PM): into nasty bun
BP (1:19:24 PM): have i taken it down from said soppy nasty bun/pony?
BP (1:19:26 PM): nope
BP (1:19:32 PM): ran into some mascara
BP (1:19:42 PM): to give the illusion of having eyelashes at all
BP (1:20:04 PM): i am sweatingfrom the upper lip by the time i grace the offiice because i walk 3+ miles
BP (1:20:16 PM): thank god for no straight men in PR
daisy (1:21:16 PM): hahahah
daisy (1:21:26 PM): but see the gays judge too. chase is very judgy.
BP (1:21:51 PM): oh chase is totally judgy
daisy (1:21:52 PM): also vanessa just sent this to me. i recommend watching it later. HILARIOUS CAT VIDEO
BP (1:21:56 PM): ask him now how often i wash my hair
BP (1:21:59 PM): i'll wait
BP (1:22:06 PM): ask what he says about my general appearance
BP (1:22:11 PM): he saw me everyday for over a year
daisy (1:22:35 PM): asking. and pretty sure id turn his stomach.
daisy (1:22:51 PM): last week i did this thing they do in the magazines, "1 pair of pants, five ways!"
daisy (1:22:59 PM): except it was because i only had one pair of pants clean.
daisy (1:23:01 PM): beat that
BP (1:23:04 PM): HAHAHAHAAHA
BP (1:23:18 PM): you win for today
BP (1:23:25 PM): but only because you can't see my sloppy appearance
BP (1:24:06 PM): has chase answered you?
daisy (1:24:40 PM): he hasnt answered
daisy(1:25:04 PM): im not intimidated. ill pursue the truth.
daisy (1:26:28 PM): he just responded
daisy(1:26:30 PM): "eww"
BP (1:26:36 PM): and there you go
daisy (1:26:45 PM): and added does baby powder count to which i am replying YES
daisy (1:26:51 PM): and WHY DO YOU THINK I HAVE BP ON MY DESK
BP (1:27:01 PM): HAHAHAHA
daisy (1:27:31 PM): perrin, seriously, were on the same page here
BP (1:27:31 PM): you can tell him that helping to pick out no less than 7 of what can only be described as Speedo lights
BP (1:27:38 PM): for his gruise (gay cruise)
BP (1:27:49 PM): is more than compensation for my less than adequate appeareance
daisy (1:28:24 PM): I cant breathe im laughing so hard
BP (1:28:35 PM): aussie bums
BP (1:28:38 PM): i actually remember the brand
daisy (1:29:22 PM): did you GO WITH him or just see these online?!
BP (1:29:28 PM): picked out online
BP (1:29:31 PM): THEN got to see them
BP (1:29:36 PM): in their itty bitty packaging
daisy (1:29:46 PM): all kindas lines. crossed.
BP (1:29:48 PM): like i said
BP (1:29:50 PM): more than payment
daisy (1:30:29 PM): yeah. just.. yeah. thats pretty much a lifetime of favors right there.
daisy (1:31:32 PM): please drag chase with you to boston. hes been promising to come for like a year.
BP (1:34:15 PM): yes
BP (1:34:18 PM): i will force him
BP (1:34:19 PM): he likes that
BP (1:34:21 PM): oh god
BP (1:34:27 PM): that came across way wrong
daisy (1:35:28 PM): omg.
daisy (1:35:36 PM): if i were chase id say ROFL
daisy (1:35:44 PM): who even uses those acronyms.
BP (1:36:01 PM): dear satan help us all
daisy (1:36:11 PM): HA
daisy (1:36:23 PM): perrin you are kind of my new favorite person.
BP(1:36:45 PM): i have to say likewise my pet
daisy (1:37:06 PM): * beaming with dirty pride! *
BP (1:40:08 PM): go live with your slut.
daisy (1:40:22 PM): GASP
daisy (1:40:26 PM): what did he say?!
daisy (1:40:57 PM): HAHHH
daisy (1:41:06 PM): omg i thought you were commenting on something chase told you about me. then i realized you were just quoting the hilarious cat video.
BP (1:41:16 PM): hahaahahahah
daisy (1:41:34 PM): my favorite is
daisy (1:41:36 PM): i was a virgin
daisy (1:41:39 PM): WAS!!!!!!
BP (1:41:48 PM): YES
BP (1:42:53 PM): one last thing before i feign work
BP (1:42:54 PM): so
BP (1:43:01 PM): bc of the recession
BP (1:43:06 PM): and my poor retail choices
BP (1:43:13 PM): my sister and i are staying in boston with...
BP (1:43:20 PM): my freshman year college boyfriend
BP (1:43:21 PM): yep
BP (1:43:23 PM): that's right
BP (1:43:27 PM): new. low.
daisy (1:43:31 PM): a new low would be same pants six ways, this is just working the system, perrin, really. in my book, this is a win. :)
10.16.2009
blondie and brownie
mom and i are exchanging recipes over email for veggie based comfort food to make tomorrow when i come home. were both supposed to be working but are having much more fun doing this. its really warming my heart, actually.
here's what we decided on, thanks to b's beautiful blog suggestion. well probably end up quirking it up knowing us, and i intend to cram as many autumnal farmstand veggies into that casserole dish as i can but the idea will remain the same:
Cheesy Rice Pie with Roasted Broccoli & Mushrooms
Rice:
Two cups whole-grain brown rice
1 yellow onion, diced
1-2 tbsp. butter
2 cups low sodium chicken stock, 1 cup water
Veggies:
Two heads broccoli, washed and chopped into florets
2 -3 cups chopped Cremini mushrooms
Olive oil
Dairy:
1 1/4 cups Half and Half (or milk)
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1 cup grated cheddar
2 tbsp Dijon mustard
2 tbsp salt
1 tbsp pepper
1/2 cup grated Parmesan (for topping)
Heat butter in saucepan. Add chopped onion and let soften. Add rice and let "toast" for a minute or so. Then add 2 cups chicken stock and 1 cup water. Bring to a boil, stir, then cover and simmer over low heat until rice absorbs all liquid.
While the rice is cooking preheat your oven to 375 degrees. Roast veggies on sheet pan for 20 minutes or until slightly caramelized. Remove from oven and let cool.
In a large bowl whisk together eggs, Half & Half, mustard, S&P. Stir in cheddar, rice, and veggies. Press mixture firmly into a buttered cast iron skillet, casserole dish, or large pie pan. Sprinkle 1/2 cup Parmesan cheese on top. Bake in a 375 oven for 25 minutes or until cheese is melted.
blondie and brownie
another brilliant food blog id follow more if i lived in brooklyn or ny in general but as is i just appreciate their emphasis on icecream inventions and local small shop sweetness.
here's what we decided on, thanks to b's beautiful blog suggestion. well probably end up quirking it up knowing us, and i intend to cram as many autumnal farmstand veggies into that casserole dish as i can but the idea will remain the same:
Cheesy Rice Pie with Roasted Broccoli & Mushrooms
Rice:
Two cups whole-grain brown rice
1 yellow onion, diced
1-2 tbsp. butter
2 cups low sodium chicken stock, 1 cup water
Veggies:
Two heads broccoli, washed and chopped into florets
2 -3 cups chopped Cremini mushrooms
Olive oil
Dairy:
1 1/4 cups Half and Half (or milk)
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1 cup grated cheddar
2 tbsp Dijon mustard
2 tbsp salt
1 tbsp pepper
1/2 cup grated Parmesan (for topping)
Heat butter in saucepan. Add chopped onion and let soften. Add rice and let "toast" for a minute or so. Then add 2 cups chicken stock and 1 cup water. Bring to a boil, stir, then cover and simmer over low heat until rice absorbs all liquid.
While the rice is cooking preheat your oven to 375 degrees. Roast veggies on sheet pan for 20 minutes or until slightly caramelized. Remove from oven and let cool.
In a large bowl whisk together eggs, Half & Half, mustard, S&P. Stir in cheddar, rice, and veggies. Press mixture firmly into a buttered cast iron skillet, casserole dish, or large pie pan. Sprinkle 1/2 cup Parmesan cheese on top. Bake in a 375 oven for 25 minutes or until cheese is melted.
blondie and brownie
another brilliant food blog id follow more if i lived in brooklyn or ny in general but as is i just appreciate their emphasis on icecream inventions and local small shop sweetness.
beautiful just beautiful watch listen repeat
Other artists to spend some time with when i have more time: Film School, Ukiyo-e, David Grubbs, Deerhunter, Sleeping States, Papercuts, Bill Evans Trio, Boards of Canada, Sonic Youth, Hood, Roland Kirk, Dustin O'Halloran, Nick Drake, American Analogue Set, Cortney Tidwell, Low, Sun, David Kitt, Sam Prekop, Radio Dept, Jim O'Rourke, Jack Ladder, Loose Fur, Smog, Grand Salvo, Whitest Boy Alive, The Notwist, Pivot, Devics, Charles Mingus, Ken Stringfellow, Brokeback, Ivy, Manitoba, Bat For Lashes, Midlake
is it sad that this is honestly making me consider staying at this job?
there is a new coffee machine at the office. its this beautiful streamlined drip design with delicious ground roast and theyre destroying the liquidvomitsewage maker that everyone in the office besides me boycotted because really, im not a coffee snob, i just need my fix, but now that ive got the real deal im realizing that the only reason i drank a reasonable amount of coffee each day up until now is not because im not addicted, not because i have any self control, but simply becuase the stuff was utterly unstomachable in large quantities. not so anymore folks. im four cups deep and its only noon and MAN DO I FEEL CHARGED.
10.14.2009
continuation of mega post started 10/13...
ok so this morning (24 hours have passed since i started this mother of a post)i was on the T, dozing upright like a cow, having left the office a mere 8 hours earlier, and a beautiful song came on my ipod and i really wanted to sing it. i thought, what would happen if i just started singing...loudly. no one on this train knows me. theres a chance someone knows someone i know, boston being a small city, but if i sang my way to copley station and then stepped off the train my reputation as a non-crazy person would probably remain intact.
i guess this is part of what happens when i travel. my identity is called into question when theres no one around me who "knows" me. which is a sad statement about my sense of self- that it is predicated on others? many of my best friends go back to before i can remember being set on a blanket next to them. these people truly do know me as well as i know myself. but what self do they know? the one i show of course but are we all just reinforcing our childhood ideas of eachother? this is not a statement against my friends, if its being done to me then im doing it right back, im just as culpable, and at the end of the day i value my friendships over everything. everything. but maybe in my particular confused case, where i feel im truly not pointing in the right direction, like, i might be on a highway going the wrong way and the last exit for 50 miles is coming up on the right... maybe i need to pull over. sit in the car alone for a moment while everyone else hurtles by.
i guess this is travelling to me. (and i dont mean going on a vacation, i mean journeying, questing, moving around this blue and green marble without a defined itinerary)relative to the speed at which everyone else is moving towards their end-goals, its actually a kind of pulling over. and its frightening. it goes against our self-protective, species-perpetuating instincts to actively seek out companionship, a space, a routine, a life that makes sense and has "purpose."
am i getting anywhere? no. really, im not. but i can breathe somewhat better than i could yesterday...
i guess this is part of what happens when i travel. my identity is called into question when theres no one around me who "knows" me. which is a sad statement about my sense of self- that it is predicated on others? many of my best friends go back to before i can remember being set on a blanket next to them. these people truly do know me as well as i know myself. but what self do they know? the one i show of course but are we all just reinforcing our childhood ideas of eachother? this is not a statement against my friends, if its being done to me then im doing it right back, im just as culpable, and at the end of the day i value my friendships over everything. everything. but maybe in my particular confused case, where i feel im truly not pointing in the right direction, like, i might be on a highway going the wrong way and the last exit for 50 miles is coming up on the right... maybe i need to pull over. sit in the car alone for a moment while everyone else hurtles by.
i guess this is travelling to me. (and i dont mean going on a vacation, i mean journeying, questing, moving around this blue and green marble without a defined itinerary)relative to the speed at which everyone else is moving towards their end-goals, its actually a kind of pulling over. and its frightening. it goes against our self-protective, species-perpetuating instincts to actively seek out companionship, a space, a routine, a life that makes sense and has "purpose."
am i getting anywhere? no. really, im not. but i can breathe somewhat better than i could yesterday...
true in all cases, not just romantic love.
A Trail Leading Back
an old sage once told me that when you find someone you like, you take them by the ankles and you shake them. all their good qualities, the things you fell in love with them for, will come out of their pockets and fall onto the floor. you grab these things, he said spreading his arms wide, grab them and you take them to the bank. you get yourself one of those fancy safety deposit boxes they have way in the back, and you take these good qualities of theirs, lock them up, and hide the key. hide the key, he whispered, because there will be dark times. times when you don't exactly recall why you are with this person, this stranger. you will wake in the middle of the night, confused because you don't remember the person you are sleeping next to. days will pass when neither of you have uttered one word to the other. when this happens you are going to have to find the key to the safety deposit box. once you find the key, you are going to have to get to the bank, and unlock that box. look inside it and remember. it won't make sense at first, because remember you two are strangers. but once it does it will be like a baby’s song, a string of vowels, devoid of all consonants, like bubbles rising up into the sky and leaving a trail. a trail leading back.
--Erika Moya
an old sage once told me that when you find someone you like, you take them by the ankles and you shake them. all their good qualities, the things you fell in love with them for, will come out of their pockets and fall onto the floor. you grab these things, he said spreading his arms wide, grab them and you take them to the bank. you get yourself one of those fancy safety deposit boxes they have way in the back, and you take these good qualities of theirs, lock them up, and hide the key. hide the key, he whispered, because there will be dark times. times when you don't exactly recall why you are with this person, this stranger. you will wake in the middle of the night, confused because you don't remember the person you are sleeping next to. days will pass when neither of you have uttered one word to the other. when this happens you are going to have to find the key to the safety deposit box. once you find the key, you are going to have to get to the bank, and unlock that box. look inside it and remember. it won't make sense at first, because remember you two are strangers. but once it does it will be like a baby’s song, a string of vowels, devoid of all consonants, like bubbles rising up into the sky and leaving a trail. a trail leading back.
--Erika Moya
10.13.2009
its 10:27 am on tuesday oct 13 and im starting to write.
this is going to be the first post in a long time in which i actually write about my life.
it gets easy to throw poetry and videos and images up here but its raining today and i feel like being honest, i feel like connecting a fire hose between my brain and my fingers and just opening the valve.
of course that cant happen because im at work and im paid to work at work and i dont even know what the point is of the work i work on but im working on it.
so im going to write this in fits and starts, throughout the day or longer if necessary, between press releases and pitches, between launches and lunch runs, between calls and coffee breaks, im going to keep adding to this post until the pressure in my brain releases.
why does the first letter of each post indent a little with this new blog template? its driving me to distraction. i do like this new format though. it has the right ethos. is ethos the right word? what is wrong with my words?
I feel like someone played a mean joke and switched the letters on the keyboard of my brain so while i think im tapping out coherent thoughts its all ending up gibberish.
on sunday i saw a perfectly beautiful piece of theater, next to normal. i watched the main character, a middle aged well educated mother and housewife played by the epically talented alice ripley, fight and fail to win a battle with bipolar disorder and depression and traumatic hallucination and hysteria and a bitter cocktail of other undiagnosable issues and i related completely.
thats not to say that im there, im no wheres near there, im blessed, grateful, fairly fulfilled, relatively sane, basically grounded and extremely well supported by love but no part of me said, this is impossible. no part of me said, this will never happen to you.
infact, a large part of me said, if you dont figure out what you want out of life and then go after it, if you dont listen to yourself and what you need to be happy, if you make decisions out of fear and laziness, you will become isolated and self destructive. you will become an insubstantial colorless ghost of a human, comprised of the worst most loathsome elements of yourself.
and then i said to myself, lying in bed, rigid with anxiety: but by thinking this, by being aware of it, arent you allready sidestepping the trap? isnt awareness half if not almost all the battle?
no. i retorted to myself. no damnit no. why the fuck are you still in this job you hate that has nothing to do with what you want to accomplish, whatever that is.
oh, why? i replied, laying on the nasty patronizing tone that i know my self hates, let me tell you daisy. let me tell you what youre trying not to admit: you continue to tell people and yourself that youre "in the process of planning to prepare to make a decision to make a move" but you are not actively working on this move. and this is not better than saying, you know what, PR sucks but its all im going to strive to do in life. it is worse. because you, daisy, are aware that you are spinning your tires but you are using psychobabblejargonshit to justify the fear and laziness that is preventing an overdue change that might not directly immediately make you happier but will at least have the potential to introduce you to what would.
and then i thought, daisy, youre lying in bed conversing freely with yourselves and you are wondering if you have the potential to go stark raving mad? honey youre half way there. what are you going to do about it?
i want to travel and farm and read and listen and watch and wander through beautiful and ugly places and meet beautiful and ugly people the way i did when i took my year off between highschool and college but this time with eyes and mind open much wider than my 17/18 year old self. but im afraid of the dark side of travelling alone-or at least that i experience- that i never talked about with people when i came back.
everyone is always interested in that year. ohhh itttaallllyy they say, and i nod and smile as if italy is my little secret and when they ask i tell them something to reinforce all the cliches about tuscan life because thats all anyone wants to hear anyway. i gush about that the things i saw and the people i met because thats what youre supposed to do when youve been blessed enough to have the opportunity to travel.
but there are parts of it i have conveniently not mentioned. there were periods of loneliness, sadness, isolation and deep self destructive insecurity that i had never experienced before that year and that i havent experienced since. of course i have been sad and lonely in the last five years but its different from the safety of home. and i dont think those periods had much to do with being young but more with being uprooted and away from the people who stay so close to me that i dont have room to fall in any direction.
it gets easy to throw poetry and videos and images up here but its raining today and i feel like being honest, i feel like connecting a fire hose between my brain and my fingers and just opening the valve.
of course that cant happen because im at work and im paid to work at work and i dont even know what the point is of the work i work on but im working on it.
so im going to write this in fits and starts, throughout the day or longer if necessary, between press releases and pitches, between launches and lunch runs, between calls and coffee breaks, im going to keep adding to this post until the pressure in my brain releases.
why does the first letter of each post indent a little with this new blog template? its driving me to distraction. i do like this new format though. it has the right ethos. is ethos the right word? what is wrong with my words?
I feel like someone played a mean joke and switched the letters on the keyboard of my brain so while i think im tapping out coherent thoughts its all ending up gibberish.
on sunday i saw a perfectly beautiful piece of theater, next to normal. i watched the main character, a middle aged well educated mother and housewife played by the epically talented alice ripley, fight and fail to win a battle with bipolar disorder and depression and traumatic hallucination and hysteria and a bitter cocktail of other undiagnosable issues and i related completely.
thats not to say that im there, im no wheres near there, im blessed, grateful, fairly fulfilled, relatively sane, basically grounded and extremely well supported by love but no part of me said, this is impossible. no part of me said, this will never happen to you.
infact, a large part of me said, if you dont figure out what you want out of life and then go after it, if you dont listen to yourself and what you need to be happy, if you make decisions out of fear and laziness, you will become isolated and self destructive. you will become an insubstantial colorless ghost of a human, comprised of the worst most loathsome elements of yourself.
and then i said to myself, lying in bed, rigid with anxiety: but by thinking this, by being aware of it, arent you allready sidestepping the trap? isnt awareness half if not almost all the battle?
no. i retorted to myself. no damnit no. why the fuck are you still in this job you hate that has nothing to do with what you want to accomplish, whatever that is.
oh, why? i replied, laying on the nasty patronizing tone that i know my self hates, let me tell you daisy. let me tell you what youre trying not to admit: you continue to tell people and yourself that youre "in the process of planning to prepare to make a decision to make a move" but you are not actively working on this move. and this is not better than saying, you know what, PR sucks but its all im going to strive to do in life. it is worse. because you, daisy, are aware that you are spinning your tires but you are using psychobabblejargonshit to justify the fear and laziness that is preventing an overdue change that might not directly immediately make you happier but will at least have the potential to introduce you to what would.
and then i thought, daisy, youre lying in bed conversing freely with yourselves and you are wondering if you have the potential to go stark raving mad? honey youre half way there. what are you going to do about it?
i want to travel and farm and read and listen and watch and wander through beautiful and ugly places and meet beautiful and ugly people the way i did when i took my year off between highschool and college but this time with eyes and mind open much wider than my 17/18 year old self. but im afraid of the dark side of travelling alone-or at least that i experience- that i never talked about with people when i came back.
everyone is always interested in that year. ohhh itttaallllyy they say, and i nod and smile as if italy is my little secret and when they ask i tell them something to reinforce all the cliches about tuscan life because thats all anyone wants to hear anyway. i gush about that the things i saw and the people i met because thats what youre supposed to do when youve been blessed enough to have the opportunity to travel.
but there are parts of it i have conveniently not mentioned. there were periods of loneliness, sadness, isolation and deep self destructive insecurity that i had never experienced before that year and that i havent experienced since. of course i have been sad and lonely in the last five years but its different from the safety of home. and i dont think those periods had much to do with being young but more with being uprooted and away from the people who stay so close to me that i dont have room to fall in any direction.
10.12.2009
not a poem to fuck with.
There are people who will tell you
that using the word fuck in a poem
indicates a serious lapse
of taste, or imagination,
or both. It's vulgar,
indecorous, an obscenity
that crashes down like an anvil
falling through a skylight
to land on a restaurant table,
on th white linen, the cut-glass vase of lilacs.
But if you were sitting
over coffee when the metal
hit your saucer like a missile,
wouldn't that be the first thing
you'd say? Wouldn't you leap back
shouting, or at least thinking it,
over and over, bell-note riotously clanging
in the church of your brain
while the solicitous waiter
led you away, wouldn't you prop
your shaking elbows on the bar
and order your first drink in months,
telling yourself you were lucky
to be alive? And if you wouldn't
say anything but Mercy or Oh my
or Land sakes, well then
I don't want to know you anyway
and I don't give a fuck what you think
of my poem. The world is divided
into those whose opinions matter
and those who will never have
a clue, and if you knew
which one you were I could talk
to you, and tell you that sometimes
there's only one word that means
what you need it to mean, the way
there's only one person
when you first fall in love,
or one infant's cry that calls forth
the burning milk, one name
that you pray to when prayer
is what's left to you. I'm saying
in the beginning was the word
and it was good, it meant one human
entering another and it's still
what I love, the word made
flesh. Fuck me, I say to the one
whose lovely body I want close,
and as we fuck I know it's holy,
a psalm, a hymn, a hammer
ringing down on an anvil,
forging a whole new world.
--Kim Addonizio
that using the word fuck in a poem
indicates a serious lapse
of taste, or imagination,
or both. It's vulgar,
indecorous, an obscenity
that crashes down like an anvil
falling through a skylight
to land on a restaurant table,
on th white linen, the cut-glass vase of lilacs.
But if you were sitting
over coffee when the metal
hit your saucer like a missile,
wouldn't that be the first thing
you'd say? Wouldn't you leap back
shouting, or at least thinking it,
over and over, bell-note riotously clanging
in the church of your brain
while the solicitous waiter
led you away, wouldn't you prop
your shaking elbows on the bar
and order your first drink in months,
telling yourself you were lucky
to be alive? And if you wouldn't
say anything but Mercy or Oh my
or Land sakes, well then
I don't want to know you anyway
and I don't give a fuck what you think
of my poem. The world is divided
into those whose opinions matter
and those who will never have
a clue, and if you knew
which one you were I could talk
to you, and tell you that sometimes
there's only one word that means
what you need it to mean, the way
there's only one person
when you first fall in love,
or one infant's cry that calls forth
the burning milk, one name
that you pray to when prayer
is what's left to you. I'm saying
in the beginning was the word
and it was good, it meant one human
entering another and it's still
what I love, the word made
flesh. Fuck me, I say to the one
whose lovely body I want close,
and as we fuck I know it's holy,
a psalm, a hymn, a hammer
ringing down on an anvil,
forging a whole new world.
--Kim Addonizio
I will give you a poem when you wake tomorrow.
It will be a peaceful poem.
It won’t make you sad.
It won’t make you miserable.
It will simply be a poem to give you
When you wake tomorrow.
It was not written by myself alone.
I cannot lay claim to it.
I found it in your body.
In your smile I found it.
Will you recognise it?
You will find it under your pillow.
When you open the cupboard it will be there.
You will blink in astonishment,
Shout out, ‘How it trembles!
Its nakedness is startling! How fresh it tastes!’
We will have it for breakfast;
On a table lit by loving,
At a place reserved for wonder.
We will give the world a kissing open
When we wake tomorrow.
We will offer it to the sad landlord out on the balcony.
To the dreamers at the window.
To the hand waving for no particular reason
We will offer it.
An amazing and most remarkable thing,
We will offer it to the whole human race
Which walks in us
When we wake tomorrow.
--Brian Patten
It will be a peaceful poem.
It won’t make you sad.
It won’t make you miserable.
It will simply be a poem to give you
When you wake tomorrow.
It was not written by myself alone.
I cannot lay claim to it.
I found it in your body.
In your smile I found it.
Will you recognise it?
You will find it under your pillow.
When you open the cupboard it will be there.
You will blink in astonishment,
Shout out, ‘How it trembles!
Its nakedness is startling! How fresh it tastes!’
We will have it for breakfast;
On a table lit by loving,
At a place reserved for wonder.
We will give the world a kissing open
When we wake tomorrow.
We will offer it to the sad landlord out on the balcony.
To the dreamers at the window.
To the hand waving for no particular reason
We will offer it.
An amazing and most remarkable thing,
We will offer it to the whole human race
Which walks in us
When we wake tomorrow.
--Brian Patten
10.08.2009
i just found the mother load of great poetry.
I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes
---Kaylin Haught
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes
---Kaylin Haught
not one but TWO startlingly touching airport poems. wow.
Gate C22
At gate C22 in the Portland airport
a man in a broad-band leather hat kissed
a woman arriving from Orange County.
They kissed and kissed and kissed. Long after
the other passengers clicked the handles of their carry-ons
and wheeled briskly toward short-term parking,
the couple stood there, arms wrapped around each other
like he’d just staggered off the boat at Ellis Island,
like she’d been released at last from ICU, snapped
out of a coma, survived bone cancer, made it down
from Annapurna in only the clothes she was wearing.
Neither of them was young. His beard was gray.
She carried a few extra pounds you could imagine
her saying she had to lose. But they kissed lavish
kisses like the ocean in the early morning,
the way it gathers and swells, sucking
each rock under, swallowing it
again and again. We were all watching—
passengers waiting for the delayed flight
to San Jose, the stewardesses, the pilots,
the aproned woman icing Cinnabons, the man selling
sunglasses. We couldn’t look away. We could
taste the kisses crushed in our mouths.
But the best part was his face. When he drew back
and looked at her, his smile soft with wonder, almost
as though he were a mother still open from giving birth,
as your mother must have looked at you, no matter
what happened after—if she beat you or left you or
you’re lonely now—you once lay there, the vernix
not yet wiped off and someone gazed at you
as if you were the first sunrise seen from the Earth.
The whole wing of the airport hushed,
all of us trying to slip into that woman’s middle-aged body,
her plaid Bermuda shorts, sleeveless blouse, glasses,
little gold hoop earrings, tilting our heads up.
--Ellen Bass
Bird-Understander
Of many reasons I love you here is one
the way you write me from the gate at the airport
so I can tell you everything will be alright
so you can tell me there is a bird
trapped in the terminal all the people
ignoring it because they do not know
what do with it except to leave it alone
until it scares itself to death
it makes you terribly terribly sad
You wish you could take the bird outside
and set it free or (failing that)
call a bird-understander
to come help the bird
All you can do is notice the bird
and feel for the bird and write
to tell me how language feels
impossibly useless
but you are wrong
You are a bird-understander
better than I could ever be
who make so many noises
and call them song
These are your own words
your way of noticing
and saying plainly
of not turning away
from hurt
you have offered them
to me I am only
giving them back
if only I could show you
how very useless
they are not
--Craig Arnold
At gate C22 in the Portland airport
a man in a broad-band leather hat kissed
a woman arriving from Orange County.
They kissed and kissed and kissed. Long after
the other passengers clicked the handles of their carry-ons
and wheeled briskly toward short-term parking,
the couple stood there, arms wrapped around each other
like he’d just staggered off the boat at Ellis Island,
like she’d been released at last from ICU, snapped
out of a coma, survived bone cancer, made it down
from Annapurna in only the clothes she was wearing.
Neither of them was young. His beard was gray.
She carried a few extra pounds you could imagine
her saying she had to lose. But they kissed lavish
kisses like the ocean in the early morning,
the way it gathers and swells, sucking
each rock under, swallowing it
again and again. We were all watching—
passengers waiting for the delayed flight
to San Jose, the stewardesses, the pilots,
the aproned woman icing Cinnabons, the man selling
sunglasses. We couldn’t look away. We could
taste the kisses crushed in our mouths.
But the best part was his face. When he drew back
and looked at her, his smile soft with wonder, almost
as though he were a mother still open from giving birth,
as your mother must have looked at you, no matter
what happened after—if she beat you or left you or
you’re lonely now—you once lay there, the vernix
not yet wiped off and someone gazed at you
as if you were the first sunrise seen from the Earth.
The whole wing of the airport hushed,
all of us trying to slip into that woman’s middle-aged body,
her plaid Bermuda shorts, sleeveless blouse, glasses,
little gold hoop earrings, tilting our heads up.
--Ellen Bass
Bird-Understander
Of many reasons I love you here is one
the way you write me from the gate at the airport
so I can tell you everything will be alright
so you can tell me there is a bird
trapped in the terminal all the people
ignoring it because they do not know
what do with it except to leave it alone
until it scares itself to death
it makes you terribly terribly sad
You wish you could take the bird outside
and set it free or (failing that)
call a bird-understander
to come help the bird
All you can do is notice the bird
and feel for the bird and write
to tell me how language feels
impossibly useless
but you are wrong
You are a bird-understander
better than I could ever be
who make so many noises
and call them song
These are your own words
your way of noticing
and saying plainly
of not turning away
from hurt
you have offered them
to me I am only
giving them back
if only I could show you
how very useless
they are not
--Craig Arnold
2nd posting of a poem worth reading twice
The Forgotten Dialect Of The Heart
How astonishing it is that language can almost mean, and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say, God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words get it all wrong. We say bread and it means according to which nation. French has no word for home, and we have no word for strict pleasure. A people in northern India is dying out because their ancient tongue has no words for endearment. I dream of lost vocabularies that might express some of what we no longer can. Maybe the Etruscan texts would finally explain why the couples on their tombs are smiling. And maybe not. When the thousands of mysterious Sumerian tablets were translated, they seemed to be business records. But what if they are poems or psalms? My joy is the same as twelve Ethiopian goats standing silent in the morning light. O Lord, thou art slabs of salt and ingots of copper, as grand as ripe barley lithe under the wind's labor. Her breasts are six white oxen loaded with bolts of long-fibered Egyptian cotton. My love is a hundred pitchers of honey. Shiploads of thuya are what my body wants to say to your body. Giraffes are this desire in the dark. Perhaps the spiral Minoan script is not language but a map. What we feel most has no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses, and birds.
~Jack Gilbert
How astonishing it is that language can almost mean, and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say, God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words get it all wrong. We say bread and it means according to which nation. French has no word for home, and we have no word for strict pleasure. A people in northern India is dying out because their ancient tongue has no words for endearment. I dream of lost vocabularies that might express some of what we no longer can. Maybe the Etruscan texts would finally explain why the couples on their tombs are smiling. And maybe not. When the thousands of mysterious Sumerian tablets were translated, they seemed to be business records. But what if they are poems or psalms? My joy is the same as twelve Ethiopian goats standing silent in the morning light. O Lord, thou art slabs of salt and ingots of copper, as grand as ripe barley lithe under the wind's labor. Her breasts are six white oxen loaded with bolts of long-fibered Egyptian cotton. My love is a hundred pitchers of honey. Shiploads of thuya are what my body wants to say to your body. Giraffes are this desire in the dark. Perhaps the spiral Minoan script is not language but a map. What we feel most has no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses, and birds.
~Jack Gilbert
10.06.2009
blog of note
b just sent me a link to this lovely blog, specifically to a delicate squash and ginger soup recipe (oh my dear you do know me well) and then i started exploring the site and i love the concept, not to mention the friggin mushroom cheddar burger. i now have a lumber jack-like craving for BEEF.
anyway this is mostly for me to remember it, since this blog is the only consistant place to put things in my life. kind of like a home. of sorts.
Two Sisters Two Suppers
anyway this is mostly for me to remember it, since this blog is the only consistant place to put things in my life. kind of like a home. of sorts.
Two Sisters Two Suppers
today i let my guard down and admitted to someone at work that i have a blog. of course she wanted to see it, i dont know what i expected would happen, and then i had to lie and say i took it down.
i think when i leave this job i'll probably email it around to my coworkers.
sooo hey boss, kdawg, vtrain, heals, if youre reading this months from now, just know that as much as i might have ridiculed parts of our job and even aspects of your crazy asses, i really love you and loved working with you. and it will all pay off one day when i write the play/screenplay/series.
and im not just saying that because boss would send her mafia connections after me if i didnt.
leaving will not be easy. and its not the press releases on data center services that ill miss.
i think when i leave this job i'll probably email it around to my coworkers.
sooo hey boss, kdawg, vtrain, heals, if youre reading this months from now, just know that as much as i might have ridiculed parts of our job and even aspects of your crazy asses, i really love you and loved working with you. and it will all pay off one day when i write the play/screenplay/series.
and im not just saying that because boss would send her mafia connections after me if i didnt.
leaving will not be easy. and its not the press releases on data center services that ill miss.
10.05.2009
poem in progress
“I guess I’ve been hiding”
she says, as we both sidestep
a pink disc of gum on the sidewalk
“I’m getting used to coming home to no one”
a woman shakes a can at us asking for money to pay a vet bill
a man covers one ear saying into his phone, it’s too cold for October. We’re in for it this winter.
“It’s not that I don’t believe in love, objectively”
she tells me over the sound of a bus brake releasing
air and people. In the confusion a child reaches for my hand.
“I’m just always waiting for people to leave”
we reach the house and she turns to face me arms opening
over her shoulder white paint is peeling off the porch stairs
her breathe is warm against my neck.
it doesn’t feel too cold to me but I always loved the fall
and we are probably in for it.
she says, as we both sidestep
a pink disc of gum on the sidewalk
“I’m getting used to coming home to no one”
a woman shakes a can at us asking for money to pay a vet bill
a man covers one ear saying into his phone, it’s too cold for October. We’re in for it this winter.
“It’s not that I don’t believe in love, objectively”
she tells me over the sound of a bus brake releasing
air and people. In the confusion a child reaches for my hand.
“I’m just always waiting for people to leave”
we reach the house and she turns to face me arms opening
over her shoulder white paint is peeling off the porch stairs
her breathe is warm against my neck.
it doesn’t feel too cold to me but I always loved the fall
and we are probably in for it.
10.02.2009
How do we feel about this...
My grandmother's reiki masseuse/dear friend, Lonny, wrote an article for "Creations Magazine" that i would have remained entired unaware of if not for the wonders of facebook... When someone posts an article on my feed called "Why Death is Not a Problem" i'm clearly going to click on it.
I mean i'm all ears on why death is no big.
somebody, please, i'm floatin out here in a sea of wrong, you're passing by on a ship of right, enlighten me.
So i read it.
and i like it, actually.
i just dont know... how can you laugh in the face of death, welcome it even, when, if nothing else, it will cause the ones you love undue pain and loneliness?
nevermind the selfish desire to keep on using your beautiful earthly body to smell taste touch laugh love...
anyway. heres a snippet, link to the rest at the bottom.
Why Death is Not a Problem
If you were God, the All-Knowing, Omnipotent Universal ONE, what would you do for kicks?
One possible way you could have fun that would be interesting or novel would be to disperse your awareness into a zillion separate parts, each “making believe” that it was the most important ... not quite seeing how it fit into the whole picture. Then you (I, we, he, she,) could watch the drama unfold with great interest (fear, delight, chagrin,) in all it’s infinite variety, conveniently forgetting it’s just THE ONE, playing hide-and-seek with Our Self!
All newborn infants instinctively “know” that they are one with creation. They may get cranky and complain, but the newly-incarnated never worry like we “mature” people do. Naturally fearless, fresh from the womb of creation, a baby continues to directly experience its own cosmic nature. You don't remember it very well, but you too once existed in such a state, not that long ago. The process of forgetting—and eventually remembering -- this universal connection, is the drama of your life and your journey towards enlightenment.
BODY & SOUL
Soon after being born, like most human beings, you underwent the necessary processes of individuation. You were introduced to your family, tagged with a name, indoctrinated into your social role, and bequeathed your cultural identity. Soon forgetting your cosmic origins, you became completely preoccupied with your sexy new existence. The accumulating sensory intake of the present vehicle began to feel like the center of all experience. This centralization of experience and vantage point over time formed memory, and the focus of attention we call the ego, or “self.”
You point towards your body and identify “me,” as opposed to the rest of the world. The conventional and most convenient boundary between this assumed separate “self” and all others is your skin, which you rightly endeavor to protect and defend, and from which you gain pleasure and security. Yet sooner or later, we all will discover that we are more than flesh and bones.
Discovering that “I am not my body” does not require that you renounce it. The only renunciation necessary is of your fear of losing it. As the body ages, the package of meat which your narrowed awareness called home, begins to feel more like a cage. Eventually, it becomes the tomb of the ego. That is why we are well advised to cultivate an awareness of spirit not defined by, but projecting through the material form.
The realization of immortality usually only dawns after death—and only after much tribulation—for the unprepared. In contrast, such an awakening while still in earthly existence is surely a prize worth seeking. With it comes a peace of mind that far surpasses any gratification offered by the temporal world.
HOW TO DIE
Paradoxically, dying is the greatest opportunity to realize enlightenment in a person’s life. The process of dropping the body and passing beyond presents a unique and potentially liberating perspective on the game of human incarnation.
How then can a person die into liberation, consciously, in equanimity, without fear or delusion? The answer sounds deceptively simple, yet it requires a lifetime of practice. The way to enlightened death is the way of enlightened living. It is to LET GO.
Keep reading...
I mean i'm all ears on why death is no big.
somebody, please, i'm floatin out here in a sea of wrong, you're passing by on a ship of right, enlighten me.
So i read it.
and i like it, actually.
i just dont know... how can you laugh in the face of death, welcome it even, when, if nothing else, it will cause the ones you love undue pain and loneliness?
nevermind the selfish desire to keep on using your beautiful earthly body to smell taste touch laugh love...
anyway. heres a snippet, link to the rest at the bottom.
Why Death is Not a Problem
If you were God, the All-Knowing, Omnipotent Universal ONE, what would you do for kicks?
One possible way you could have fun that would be interesting or novel would be to disperse your awareness into a zillion separate parts, each “making believe” that it was the most important ... not quite seeing how it fit into the whole picture. Then you (I, we, he, she,) could watch the drama unfold with great interest (fear, delight, chagrin,) in all it’s infinite variety, conveniently forgetting it’s just THE ONE, playing hide-and-seek with Our Self!
All newborn infants instinctively “know” that they are one with creation. They may get cranky and complain, but the newly-incarnated never worry like we “mature” people do. Naturally fearless, fresh from the womb of creation, a baby continues to directly experience its own cosmic nature. You don't remember it very well, but you too once existed in such a state, not that long ago. The process of forgetting—and eventually remembering -- this universal connection, is the drama of your life and your journey towards enlightenment.
BODY & SOUL
Soon after being born, like most human beings, you underwent the necessary processes of individuation. You were introduced to your family, tagged with a name, indoctrinated into your social role, and bequeathed your cultural identity. Soon forgetting your cosmic origins, you became completely preoccupied with your sexy new existence. The accumulating sensory intake of the present vehicle began to feel like the center of all experience. This centralization of experience and vantage point over time formed memory, and the focus of attention we call the ego, or “self.”
You point towards your body and identify “me,” as opposed to the rest of the world. The conventional and most convenient boundary between this assumed separate “self” and all others is your skin, which you rightly endeavor to protect and defend, and from which you gain pleasure and security. Yet sooner or later, we all will discover that we are more than flesh and bones.
Discovering that “I am not my body” does not require that you renounce it. The only renunciation necessary is of your fear of losing it. As the body ages, the package of meat which your narrowed awareness called home, begins to feel more like a cage. Eventually, it becomes the tomb of the ego. That is why we are well advised to cultivate an awareness of spirit not defined by, but projecting through the material form.
The realization of immortality usually only dawns after death—and only after much tribulation—for the unprepared. In contrast, such an awakening while still in earthly existence is surely a prize worth seeking. With it comes a peace of mind that far surpasses any gratification offered by the temporal world.
HOW TO DIE
Paradoxically, dying is the greatest opportunity to realize enlightenment in a person’s life. The process of dropping the body and passing beyond presents a unique and potentially liberating perspective on the game of human incarnation.
How then can a person die into liberation, consciously, in equanimity, without fear or delusion? The answer sounds deceptively simple, yet it requires a lifetime of practice. The way to enlightened death is the way of enlightened living. It is to LET GO.
Keep reading...
On two very different musical notes...
Thanks to L im now fully invested in Glee and thanks to Kristen Chenoweth's glorious presence on Glee i'm now fully obsessed with Heart's honkin 80's anthem, Alone:
annnd tonight im going to see brandi carlile! and speaking of anthems... this song was played nonstop in my car two summers ago, or whenever it came out. i managed to hitch a boatload of emotional baggage to its lyrics. it still makes my stomach churn.
i know she has all this "new music" but if she doesnt play that song im going to run up on stage and play it myself. and no, i dont play guitar. or sing. so consider that, brandi. just consider that and make good decisions.
annnd tonight im going to see brandi carlile! and speaking of anthems... this song was played nonstop in my car two summers ago, or whenever it came out. i managed to hitch a boatload of emotional baggage to its lyrics. it still makes my stomach churn.
i know she has all this "new music" but if she doesnt play that song im going to run up on stage and play it myself. and no, i dont play guitar. or sing. so consider that, brandi. just consider that and make good decisions.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)