consuelacooks

cooking, poetry, and unapologetic intense moments in a life

Month: February, 2013

Sometimes you don’t want to dumb it down.

ImageI’m going to hair.
I’m going to bone.
I’m going to sea
I’m going to forest and hum
a city that doesn’t want for kindness.

Time that won’t rest, debts always paid. Softer countenance than yours.

(The Mirror up to nature)

Sure of me. Sure of me. Be sure, I said. And don’t take it back on Thursdays.

Cataclysmic lovers, poets, madmen!
VI amo con tutto il mio cuore.

And god’s fingers are here

here in these hills, smothered in thick white-
every celestial vein
every angelic knocked point gives a destination, a time, and place
and thirty steps to a corner store for spirits, they say, those gentlemen…
And don’t they love and lie and hiss and sing and kiss and touch and rage and howl at the moon in the New World? The New England? (Billy Bragg isn’t looking hard enough)

(And those crazy Thracians- Philomela in her hut having those things done that he did and then them all becoming those crazy birds)

Maybe we can do that , become those birds, when we get the nights back, when we can watch the sun set again, when it gets back to hand holding and fires.
When the wall portraits finally close their stoic eyes and let us play. When we close our stoic eyes and see what is in front of us, not a month behind.

And the house was made of glass, each several window blown sugar, each strand of sugar spider webs, each web the finest dew line, each dew line the stuff of dreams.
And in 15something they wrote a book for me
I have it by my bedside,
It produced tributary tears in the getting of it. It teaches me how to human well.

fiends, sleepers,
lunatics, composers
poets, builders
horrors, flying girls, painters, and professors-  those who dig deep in the dirt

come to the circle, she said and wear it like the costume of a play.
it is a triple night of palettes for trying.
Oh sisters and brothers-
Soyez prêt pour un festin. Nous serons présents tout.

Et mangez-vous entier.

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Three weeks and a hundred or more moments

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A blink is, after all, a cleansing
A kiss, an entry
The holding of a hand, a communion
And the words are history the moment they become.
The moment they arrive on page
And my hands are soaking wet.

Thursday, or Good Lovin’

G

You touch me
As the astronauts walk
Slowly
As guitar string pulled
As an articulate chant
Spine, foot and hip
and 11 , and 12, and 1am
and I am thinking of chin sliding sideways down 
freckle thigh high all in light
the friction decreased by energy pored
released into hair, skin, pelvis. 
And Venus never had it so good.
and ever you shoved your way inside and hid for moments and named my insides for Africa, Atlantis, abyss.
I see you every night. Sometimes more than I should.
But I document, Griffin. I write it down. I continue it in words that are limitless. 
So think of me as you would 
if I were there next to you.
peeking from blanket, heaving with unrelenting sighs.
Think of the first kiss, there, the second, there.
And the vernacular of them yet to become. 
I need you to hold me tighter than rain.
I need the mountains and the sea and the strip-
Then fall onto me when you can, when you will. 
And find my hands at the end, shivering.
Waiting for the touch of your sweet mouth.

 

Gratitude, or late night tangles and tangos

Deep in the Berkshires at a Medical Arts building with a dear friend who begins a long journey today. In the most delicate fashion I will describe what she is going through:

That SHIT is getting taken out of her breast today.

She, as always, is laughing and making everyone else laugh. She, still, takes care of all around her while harboring that hateful pod of disease in her beautiful breast. She brings chocolate to those who take care of her. She talks in adorable voices. She makes sure we are OK. This is what she does because this is who she is. She is a better person than most anyone I know. We all long to do something- ANYTHING for her. And in the wake of this recent and surprising development- we have all looked at what we HAVE compared to what WE DON’T and become a little more grateful. Things just don’t hold the weight they did a month ago. Even in her scariest hour, she is there- cheerleading us. As always, making us want to be better and better humans.

 

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This is her.

 

So, I am going to attempt to do a few things. Love more earnestly. Forgive. Listen. I am not skilled at these three. In general I glide through pretty selfishly. Pretty child-like. Pouty and temperamental. I need to get over that shit. Stat.

So- I’ve been in love recently. And even more recently desperately in like. And moreover, I have a bajillion great friends. And a cat. And a home. And I work with kids. And I have the means to speak my mind and use my body. I get to create beautiful things. I get to nourish people. I have strong hands and cancer-free breasts. My Mother hangs the moon on me and my Step-Dad is right behind her. I live with the most amazing girl who is someone I admire and laugh with. I spend time with a new friend now who is freaking adorable and so like me it is mind blowing- who isn’t afraid to break me if needed. I work for a company who organizes two weeks of meals, walking buddies, cleaning crew and backup help for employees who are having their life threatened by surprise tumors. I work free-lance for a great friend who has widened my world up here in the beautiful place I live. I have the best of friends. I have no enemies. I am alive and cancer-free. Very alive. Thanks, Universe.

I love you with all my heart.

Photos to fuel your Cupidity

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As you were….

-Carm

Cupid puked at the Theatre OR creative bartending

ImageSo- we are doing this show where I work. It’s called The Liar

http://www.shakespeare.org/performances/all-performances/the-liar/

A great deal of my friends are in this show. And I like them. And I love the director. One of my gap jobs (Jobs that simultaneously run with teaching/acting/directing etc.) is tending bar during the performances of The Liar and the aftertime when Company hangs out and has fun. Since I believe that each different show we do should have a special thing that is just thiers– I made up a drink list catered to each character’s personality. The drink menu follows…

The “Cliton”

Lemon Vodka, Orange Juice, and Cranberry Juice with a cherry

The “Geronte”

Whiskey, Sour Mix, Tequilla, Grenadine, and Sweet Lime Juice with two Limes

The “Dorante”

Whiskey, Sour Mix, Grenadine, and Black Cherry Juice with a Lime

The “Lucrece”

Vanilla Vodka, Cranberry Juice, and Sour Mix with Apple Slices

The “Clarice”

Kahlua, Vanilla Vodka, Milk, Grand Marnier, and Raspberry Syrup

The “Izzy Sabine”

Clementine Vodka, Sprite, Grenadine, and a Cherry

The “Alcippe”

Gosling’s, Dark Spiced Rum, Black Cherry Juice, Cocoa Liqueur, and Apple Slices

The “Philiste”

Blue Caraco, Sprite, Raspberry Syrup, Spiced Rum, and Lime Wedges

SO.

THAT Happened. The Lucrece is in the lead for most drinks sold. The Geronte is not far behind. For my money? The CLARICE is the yummiest. All the way.

Today was our annual Valentine’s Day brunch here at Shakespeare & Comapany. I saw some beautiful stories take place. One older man told me that the woman on his arm was the first Valentine’s Day date– ever. He bought her wine and a Shakes & Co T-Shirt and had me take pictures of the two of them together. I saw the moment of first hand holding and I had to bite my cheek not to tear up. I think it’s extraordinary and charming and comforting to know that a man of sixty can experience Valentine’s Day for the first time. Even in this day. Even in this age. I would take pictures too. And not even to just post to Facebook. Just to be able to look at them. And be in love, at Sixty– for the first time.

Love in earnest, people. It ain’t over till’ it’s over.

-Carmen-maria

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Yes. I really do eat fire.

There was a comment that asked if I just cook spicy food or if I eat actual fire. The answer is yes, and yes.

Sweet seasonal sadness, poetic peanut butter, and wantings.

AND FIVE SIX SEVEN I ZOOMED THESE PAST FEW
A BUZZ WITH WANTON WANTINGS AND WIDDERSHIN PENDULUMS
RUNNING FINDING CLOCKS AND CALORIE COUNTS
FASTER THAN USUAL, EVERYTHING.
AND EIGHT NINE TEN I LOST ONE, I GAINED ONE, I NEVER STAY FOCUSED VERY LONG AND
MY FRIENDS I GRAPPLED THEM WITH HOOPS OF STEEL
TO SINEWY FLUFF HEART, FULL
OF WATER, PIGS, AND OTHER SUCH PLUSH STUFF

AND I THOUGHT OF YOU IN YOUR NEW HAMPSHIRE
OR YOUR WOODS SOMEWHERE 
THINKING OF THE BIG THINGS AND GROWING FROM BOY TO MAN AND I HELD YOUR FACE ON MY BELLY ONCE
MY HAIR WAS SO LONG IT BRUSHED YOU THERE

AND I REMEMBER THE BERKSHIRE NIGHT WHEN WE WENT TO THE WHARTON MANSION,

GORGING ON BUTTER PECAN OUT BY THE WATEr

WANDERING THROUGH THOSE HAUNTED WOODS LOOKING FOR INDIANS

EDITH WAS ON FIRE THAT NIGHT, LIKE US
WANTING TO KISS, BUT NOT
NERVOSA KEPT US FROM ALL 

AND CHASTITY IS WHY I REMEMBER YOU, LOVE.

I WANT WOODS NOW, WOODS WHERE I CAN RUN AND FIND SCREAMING DEAD PERFECT INDIANS
FLASHING FIRE EYES THROUGH GREEN NIGHT WITH
A HUNDRED YEAR OLD SOMETHING MANSION STARING ME DOWN.
I WANT TO BELLY BRUSH FACE AND HAND
I WANT A ZIP CODE OF KISSES
AND A KINDER WAY TO KEEP THE SUN

AND I’M NOT SO FAR FROM IT REALLY.

AND I TWISTED MY HAND INTO THE SHAPE OF A ROSE
AND I KNEW, I KNOW I BELONG IN THE SHAPE OF THE HARVEST MOON
AND I KNOW HOW TO SAY MY NAME
SO THAT THEY HEAR.

I CHOOSE INSTEAD TO
GO FIVE THOUSAND MILES FAST

AND FORGET THE TASTE OF SALT TEARS

“When clouds appear, wise men put on their cloaks; When great leaves fall, the Winter is at hand;When the sun sets, who doth not look for night? Untimely storms make men expect a dearth. All may be well; but, if God sort it so,’Tis more than we deserve, or I expect.”

-Richard III, Willy Shakes

“A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head”

-R & J, Same Guy

“You think I’ll weep
No, I’ll not weep:
I have full cause of weeping; but this heart
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws,
Or ere I’ll weep. O fool, I shall go mad!”

The Tragedy of King Lear, Yada Yada Yada…

Seasonal affective disorder (SAD), also known as winter depressionwinter bluessummer depressionsummer blues, or seasonal depression, is a mood disorder in which people who have normal mental health throughout most of the year experience depressive symptoms in the winter or summer,[1] spring or autumn year after year. In the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-IV), SAD is not a unique mood disorder, but is “a specifier of major depression”.[2]

Although experts were initially skeptical, this condition is now recognized as a common disorder, with its prevalence in the U.S. ranging from 1.4 percent in Florida to 9.7 percent in New Hampshire.[3]

The U.S. National Library of Medicine notes that “some people experience a serious mood change when the seasons change. They may sleep too much, have little energy, and may also feel depressed. Though symptoms can be severe, they usually clear up.”[4] The condition in the summer can include heightened anxiety.[5]

I have noticed some really textbook responses to this condition. Seasonal Depression is rampant here.This shit is real.  Most of my friends and myself get spanked by this every year. Here are some methods of temporary release from Seasonal Depression, none of which I endorse as a cure, but all fun in their own way I suppose:

Gobs of Medication. Takes 2-6 weeks to kick in. Not timely.

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Drinking. Lots of it. Late at night at socked in bars with locals. Loses magic quickly…

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Spirituality. Can be daily. Definitely helps, but can be lonely without the community to support it. It’s hard to congregate when you cannot leave your house.

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Intimacy.  This is always a quick and temporary fix. Short term but effective. And fun.

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Pets. They help. A lot.

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Friends. Lots of them. Gathering. Staying warm. Loving one another and just getting through. This works too. Probably best of all.

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Good Food! Winter food! The universe provides comfort foods in the Winter for a reason. I believe that root vegetables feed the inside and outside of your soul. They scrub it out.

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So. When I get sad- by my own prescription I will attempt to eat only super foods while shotgunning a beer, hugging a dog, taking some Prozac, and alternately kissing my good friends while on a rosary.

OR.

JUST WAIT.

WINTER WILL END…

And the Spring will be glorious.  And we will lick the Sun and take our clothes off and jump in lakes again. We will watch Tanglewood on a hot July evening and swat mosquitoes and roll in the grass.We will all in reality get through this. It sure doesn’t feel like it right now to me… But the paralysis will eventually end and we will feel alive again. Soon the boulders will get off of our shoulders and we will use them for target practice. We will roll them uphill. So- keep on keeping on. And remember to love each other.

-Carmen-maria

Swim in this, and hold your breath.

Last night there was certain magic that occurred.  I slept well for the first in my new apartment. I think there might be a few contributing factors to this happening.

One:

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This girl. Frances Maui. A new addition to my life. Smart, fast, beautiful. Kind. Funny. Sleeps under the covers with me.

Two:

The dinner.

Homemade Guacamole, Pico and lovely chips.

Slow roasted pork and tofu (Chipoltle peppers, Honey, Molasses, Cumin, Lemon Juice, Cashews, Almonds, Chocolate)

Couscous with Pine Nuts, Cilantro, Onions, and Tomatoes

Beets roasted in Malbec with Molasses, Cayenne and Sea Salt

Three:

The People. A lovely bunch. Jo, Luke, Caroline, James, Caitlin and I. And Franny the Cat. Who was on her best behavior. Like always. It filled up my heart, filled up the house, and filled the creaky spaces left with questionable energy with love.

Four:

I started writing again. Revisiting poetry from the past year. Sprucing it up. Humaning it. Making it breathe.

Post lizard-hunting activities

One day until wheels leave ground and I am airborne

And two three dancing at the derby and

Three four spine like I will travel down old paths

And old familiar eyes

Angels and batboys both need running shoes

And twenty years later will I say your name?

The house is burning, sweet Jesus- the smoke!

Skywise it puffs up like proud bird and God will go bowling soon

I’ll point my toes toward the red

If only for a day more

A night more

One love at a time at a viper’s speed

Pouncing on heart and freeing the room that was left

Behind years ago

Where falling leaves live, and earthworms the size of

Stormtroopers, cats the size of

Two-stories, hands the size of

Me.

And I pause for dreaming

I remember running, running so fast, so far in rain

At six or seven, running in stealth, me and Roberto

Fast with tight white Florida shirts baring

Arms, hands brown

Shorts baring brown legs, dirty knees

(post lizard hunting)

And that lightning could have pounded me in the chest as he

Closed in fast

Closed in grabbing

Arms tight closed in hard and fast

On pink mouth with kiss

And the rain ran down curiosity

The rain ran down a different take on Father

The rain ran down balloons and birthday scotch

I felt tongue muscle slide across wet bottom lip

Fierce Florida destitute forlorn poor kids

Learning the way to longer days

Punching the sky with boredom and new-found

Belly clenching activities

I don’t want to give, I say. I don’t want to

Have to quiet down.

I want to yell it scream it kick it whisper it

Bigger than my life before

I want to swim before and after by MY hand.

I want to keep my words, and my womb and my wicked hands

And throw them slowly to the sea

I want to learn 5 ways to say I desire you.

I want to be silent and only watch.

I want a different take on this all.

I want to rub chocolate on the white house and

Eat from my yard

I want to eat you like a whole almond, he said.

Me and time we see,

And I never knew the shape of trees in a hurricane.

And I love has never left me so full as these years, three

And I wait for your foot on the stair.

A Prayer for us

A prayer for us

Let it be us, I say.-

Let it be you and I and she and he and them

The ones we know and

The ones we trade with

The ones who fill our coffers, fill our coffees fill our bowls fill our hearts fill our shit lists fill our short lists fill our long nights fill our good nights fill our moons and suns and books and nooks, Greek Gods, the critics, the poets, the hot heads the pot heads the bi-polars the fur toting patrons ,the broken kids the token troubled ones the actors the lovers the basketball stars that tower taller then trees, The Flyers, the whores with constant bruised knees the moms who don’t know why or how, the guys who trim our trees, the ones we’ve loved in our dreams, the ones who’ve been to Rome, The ones waiting for injections off of Martin Luther King, Fathers who don’t know better, sisters who love ferociously, lovers, cadavers, workers, bankers, lunatics and all of us in-between

Let’s have this night

This one night. Let it be us.

let’s put on our finest array and have cataclysmic food fights on the white house lawn-

let’s bring back Burroughs and talk about Fletch-

let’s laugh out loud at funerals to celebrate life-

let’s hover over the freeze dried nun, tight in starch tread black and white trench . Let’s fly after the largest group of them we can find with 50 kids with 50 wiffle ball bats.-

let’s make a church built of crayons that melts whenever anyone talks of fire-

let’s fall in love until our heads burst-

let’s kiss strangers in the only the darkest of music halls-

let’s kiss strangers only in the darkest of places

let’s kiss strangers only on the darkest of nights

let’s run naked through the bible belt with Jesse Helm’s fresh face tattooed on our buttocks- Screaming Judas was framed.

let’s get a gravesite for Jeff Buckley in the middle of Moore square and put Grace on repeat-

let’s buy a thousand hungry cats and set them free in a Peter Max show-

Let’s paint ourselves, smash against canvas kissing and sell us for thousands on e-bay-

Let’s wear dance belts only to the ballet on Thursday-

Let’s Paint a bar code on the Saturn and take a drive through a Kmart check out-

Let’s paint Ray Charles on every Bible-

let’s wear boy’s clothes to bed, only if we’ve stolen them-

let’s wear girl’s clothes to bed and take only the most tasteless of pictures-

let’s run Ben Nye Blood all over white hands, stand in Abercrombie and scream out damned spot to every passerby –

let’s say I love you to every telemarketer, ask them how they fall in love, ask them what a sigh feels like, and ask them to the show-

let’s do Shakespeare, and do Shakespeare, and do Shakespeare, because he really knows where it’s at-

Let’s put a velcro wall in every gallery, throw an art merchant up and try and sell him-

Let’s name a dog after every beat poet-

Let’s name a cat after every rock in Virginia’s pocket

Let’s close our eyes at stop lights and let go-

Let’s crank call the white house asking for the good bush-

Let’s stop under every street light to get a better look at each other’s hands-

Let’s see every play-

Let’s eat every storm-

Let’s count every raindrop, believing that each is a planet hitting the earth and every moment is the last we have to kiss-

Let’s notice the wind, and the wild, and the words, and the wary-

Let’s fall in love with people too young- people too old, people who live, people who fear, people who write, people who know us as shadows, people who die, people who are dead, people who are willow cabins at our gates writing loyal cantons of contemned love and singing them loud even in the dead of night- (and shakespeare wrote that, not me-)

Let’s drink red on a Wednesday, White on a sunday-

Let’s go to the show, sit in the house seats, discover Tilly, Fall into Connor, and leave the other band behind-

let’s do our acrobatic act in the lobby of the Performing arts center, just after the Russians-

Let’s idolize Icarus’s Blind Flight, knowing he plummeted, but wishing he would have burned because burning is closer to the gods-

Let’s be Touchstone, and Jaques, and Oliver, and Orlando-

Let’s be Coriolanus, Marc Antony, Hermione, and Perdita-

Let’s be Leontes, Dion, Amiens,

Let’s be those great men of the Globe,

great God, Let me Robert Armin or Will Kemp, just for a day, I would sell my soul for it-

Let us be all of these,

Comrades-

warriors of the night, the day, the hush and hum, the blood and bones, the in-between, the solid sun and the moon-

let us ride razor blades and drink whiskey to welcome the new day and the day next and the day next and the day next-

let us celebrate Arthur and Ray and William and Hunter-

Let us sing unto their bones-

of Glory, Glory-

Gloriana-

Seraphim, Gabriel, Mother, Father, skyward we all will rise as

We guide the spirit of dead men glorius

We are warriors for the waking day

We will with eyes open mouth open thighs open heart open

Eat this whole

Eat it entire, flesh and bone

You, you and I

All of us

We sing a song of glory

cantiamo una canzone

cantiamo

cantiamo

Let it be us I say-

Oh Comrades, Moloch Moloch…

Amen.

Goodnight

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