Friday, February 13, 2015

the deer also known as a hart

my love is a burden

i am your prey.


i am your  predator : : : : : artemesia, goddess of the hunt.


we are all always prey and predator.  


that is true.


+++++ there is no such thing as the top of the food chain because in the end, the earth will eat us all, and the universe will eat the earth and i don’t know who will eat the universe, just that our matter will keep getting eaten and transformed into new forms ad infinitum.  


+++++ the material world seems to indicate that 1) everything has already been created.  2) everything lives forever in some form or other.

hart hunting


so.  deer, i miss you.

you are running, and i might catch a glimpse of you out the window some time.  you are beautiful and fleet and i’ve given up my quest to capture you.

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

I Can't Go Home After Work, Dude. Am I Right, Lara?

This dude seemed happy to pose for me.
Last Tuesday, the streets here in downtown Manhattan were too icy to bike to work, so walked about two miles from the river to the East Village. Only 30 degrees around 9 pm. Not cold for this winter. Warm! Warm enough to have a conversation while walking with my hand out, holding my phone.

I'd been out all day, since before the sun, and I wasn't heading home. Heading home, would make me feel like work had won the day.

I wasn't going to let it.

Heading uptown, I ended up in the basement of Three of Cups, where a one-off Keith Richards appreciation night, called Keef and Shit: a night to celebrate the undisputed kind of cool was kicking off around 10 pm. The thing was going until 4:00 am. This was a Tuesday night. The fact that NYC, way past Guiliani time, planned to stay up way late on a school night made me very happy.

This Keef thing was also being hosted by Cynthia Ross, a cool girl rock musician who used to date another cool kid, Stiv Bators of the Dead Boys.

Because I'm super dorky and I'm at this thing alone, I sit at a bar and take notes, just like I used to do in NYC when I'd go out alone in 1989.

Here's what I wrote by votive:
Notes by low weak candle

My transcription:

Bowie's "Waiting for the Man." Long-haired dude in an oversized pimp hat. Hendrix's "All Along the Watchtower." Small boisterous group sings along to this. I want someone to take my order for pizza. Stones' "Star Star"--"Way back to New York City / Where I do belong" Now those dudes are singing exuberantly to "Star Star." Rod Stewart now. I just asked the gravelly voiced girl bartender for a pizza. She told me to order upstairs. Alice Cooper's "Hey Stoopid." Omg, Faster Pussycat. Now finally, the Stones. There are cheers. "When the Whip Comes Down." "Just My Imagination"--Keith's great backing vocals here. This song is so good.
____________________________________

So now you know if you ever see me sitting and writing in a notebook, what I'm writing is pretty stupid. But it was really stupidly fun to sit there and I wasn't tired AT ALL. AND (see above) I got a photo of the dude in the pimp hat, channeling Keith on my way out. Plus, Keith on the wall below:


I'll be doing a stay-out-late post every week, if this one wasn't too dull. Let me know!





Monday, February 9, 2015

YOU CAN HATE ME now ::::: this document is called “smart things I say that I should be paid for but won’ t be”


listen up boys

this document is called “smart things I say that I should be paid for but won’t be”

&

the folder is entitled pragmatically          :::::
but not totally accurately :::::
“journalism 2015”
some smart people
just ignore

talking

about  anything

that

depends on

really ugly

white capitalist dudes :::::

the best people do that.
i want to be the best.
i am not the best.

:::::

god & jesus help me.

+++++

(((((they, god & jezus,  don’t seem to like helping ladies.  especially the super fertile ladies like me with all the kids.)))))

+++++

plus
plus
plus
plus
plus

so many things I should be doing.  Folding clothes into my kids’ drawers for school tomorrow. griddling some hamburgers for dinner.  Heating up yesterday’s mashed potatoes for dinner.
grading poor :::::

hungry & hungry & very hungry papers written by poor hungry students.

+++++

babies.
baby.
i know.
i seriously know.
it’s hard to know.

+++++

what we should pay attention to.
i like beck, beyonce, & kanye.
i mean, there are some things I like.
AS
there are things I like about d’angleo, hildegard, machaut, marina abramovich.
kanye  had a point.
none of which.
baby

:::::
i can’t be owned
:::::

even if I want
here and now.
(((((yeezus is my shepherd/not my shepherd & i shall/shall not want)))))
cn b dvrcd frm sck cptlstic stm.
if you can read that baby

<3

i don’t hate you as much

a  system with no vowels, no mothers, no wymn.

++++++

but fuck.
what’s the fkn difference?
people.
you need to go deeper.
beck resorted to a singer songwriter schtick &
he resorted.
he did.
he forsook harmonic & rhythmic interest
& he got money for it
mormons call that preistcraft
julie told me I would get bored of yeezus
& I did
&
\/ venice (LA) sunsets.
never disagree that LA doesn’t control the world.
i’m sorry that
i don’t hate it
it reminds me of my (white) childhood
like sstrada & shit (((((ponch)))))

+++++

carole king or james whats-his-name. the brill building heroin (white) guy. 
W (((((hite)))))
white guys pissing scared.
i’m not going to parse.
white guys R skeered.
i heard yesterday
(((((again)))))
that I am not good at parsing.
i’m sorry that you
 ((((( I )))))
have to do better, baby.
thought for a second there was
a
u & i ,
baby
i’m sorry.
i probably never will be.
should I keep
be sorry like always?
yeah
i          know
you say yeah
like always baby
like five babies, baby

+++++

i was lying in bed.
thinking
that

+++++

(((((fck)))))
there’s so much more :::::
baby yeez

++++++

Thursday, October 30, 2014

shameful and other secrets

annual halloween performance of christian asplund's fall of the house of usher

1) my secret writing place--i found a new spot and no one knows where it is.

don't try to read what's in my notebook.  it's a secret.

2) moses' secret crazy carrot coconut soup & popovers.  if i have the wherewithal, i'll make it for halloween tomorrow night.

digging cheesy new country such as lady antebellum
3) i've been listening to the eagle, 101.5, salt lake city's new country station.

and early zeroes alicia
4) i'm obsessed with mariah carey's butterfly, alicia keys butterflyz, and dolly parton's love is like a butterfly.  what can i say.

questionable television programming

5) i watched every episode of californication in a week's time.



moses and i created this soup last summer.  


Crazy Coconut Carrot Soup

1 ½ T. coconut oil
1 ½ T. vegetable oil
1 ½ c. diced yellow onion
3 large minced garlic cloves
¾ cup diced celery
¼ cup washed and finely chopped cilantro stems
2 ½ t. kosher salt
1 t. ground cumin
1 t. garlic powder
¼ t. garlic chili oil
2 cups cubed  and peeled potato
2 cups cubed and peeled sweet potato
2 lbs. peeled and chopped carrots
6-8 c. water
1 32 oz. can diced tomatoes (including juice)
1 16 oz. can coconut milk
cilantro leaves for garnish

1)   In a large kettle, heat oil to medium and sauté onion, garlic, celery, and cilantro stems.  Saute gently for a few minutes until transluscent. 
2)   Add salt, garlic powder, cumin, and chili oil and cook for a few more minutes. 
3)   Add potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots, water, and tomatoes and bring to a boil.  Reduce heat to medium low and simmer for about 40 minutes, or until all the vegetables are so tender that they fall apart when forked.
4)   Add coconut milk and blend with an immersion blender, or in batches in a regular blender or food processor. 
5)   Adjust salt to taste if necessary, and heat the soup for a few minutes on low.  Before serving, garnish bowls of soup with cilantro leaves.
6)   Serve with Cheddar Cheesy popovers on the side—delicious for dipping in the soup.

Cheddar-Cheesy Popovers
(makes 12 medium sized popovers)

5 medium eggs
1 c. 2% milk
½ c. half & half
1 ½ c. flour
1 ½ t. kosher salt
1 c. of your favorite cheddar, grated
cooking spray

1)   Pre-heat oven to 450 degrees.  Spray a cupcake tin with cooking spray.
2)   Beat eggs in medium mixing bowl.  Add milk and half & half.  Stir in salt, grated cheddar, and finally, flower.  Mix briskly with a wire whisk.  It’s okay if a few lumps remain in the batter—kind of like pancakes, if you over mix these, they will be tough.
3)   Fill cupcake tins 2/3 of the way with batter.
4)   Bake on 450 for 20 minutes. 
5)   Reduce heat to 375 degrees and bake for 12 minutes, then check on the popovers every two minutes until they are brown, dry, and crispy.
6)   Immediately remove from the cupcake tins so they don’t get soggy, and serve right after baking with your Crazy Coconut Carrot soup.

Friday, October 10, 2014

the whiteness of the whale

summer mountains.  no pictures of fall mountains because i've been too busy looking to photograph.
i've spent the past two daytimes in the mountains by myself letting time rest for a minute.  starting last weekend i decided to practice boredom and nowness.  actually, i didn't decide to do that, but stumbled into it because i was staying in a place that had no internet or t.v.  i brought books and notebooks and music, but i got really interested in doing nothing, thinking nothing, sitting & talking about nothing.

turns out i like nothing quite well.

so i did very little this week except enjoy the ground i'm standing on and my body's fleeting residence on this earth--letting the flaming trees in the canyon and the brightness of the late fall sky & sun take care of me.  too many more words than this won't help me to say what i mean.  

i guess i don't mean anything.

just happy, today, to be.

xo


Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Stevie Didn't Want This

A well-earned, mostly open Wednesday wherein all I did was revise one nine-page story for submission to a place Lara recommended.

It's all I did, when I started the day with a list of four things. At least.

Why do I forget these things should go faster than they do?

How much does it suck that I have only one really good day in the week to do this, and that I ended up at a PTA-related event tonight.

I was just reading about Stevie Nicks, how she never wanted to be a parent because she wanted to be an artist and being a parent means a lack of focus and PTA meetings. And Stevie didn't want that.

I actually find myself volunteering at PTA.

I write this on the eve of my oldest's 16th birthday. Here we are together, age 34 and one month:

everything new



it's the birthday of sister gertrude stein's tender, tender buttons

on the mountains of which my poems often speak.  including the one on this blog.

i'm about to read it.

i wrote this weird little piece, about christmas of all awful subjects for a poem, and was inspired by sister stein.

hope it's something.

if not, it's something.


one of the most important works.



setting off 2013                        from merry christmas chapter 22

was it starry? stilly? were clouds smoky, low, or thick were we breathing burdened air particulates from wood smoke & car exhaust? was a stave of psalmody bouncing between the walls of our mountains, here on the wasatch front, here in our valley of valleys? was our basin filled with a hymn from some solo from some lit bungalow near the lake? were the feet of the soloist beautiful? was it christmas day or right before? were we anticipating or regretting? were we disappointed yet? were we recalling pleasant havens—and glades eternally vernal—fruit & mead?


i recall that it was not altogether unpleasant to be so cold.  deer foraging in grassy starry patches down the meadow of locust lane & children donned velvets & fowls & beasts laid upon the table for us, burnished, roasted            (((flowers were continuing on the mountain and low the valley without our attentions)))                         & the families & bigger families still in the concentric way of families in private beauty places & so on & so on & we thought some one would break us & so on & we searched for a break we never found & so it was as it were                         and all