consuelacooks

cooking, poetry, and unapologetic intense moments in a life

Category: food

“Every man’s memory is his private literature.” ― Aldous Huxley

The Four Agreements are:
1. Be Impeccable with your Word
2. Don’t Take Anything Personally
3. Don’t Make Assumptions
4. Always Do Your Best

I learned about the Four Agreements one summer while working in the Berkshires from my friend Tom. A Toltec Shaman named Don Miguel Ruiz published them in a book in 1997. Tom would often climb a nearby mountain and play a flute.

This was the same summer my best friend’s stepfather was hit by lightning in his canoe, along with his nephew, both killed, and drug to the bottom of a lake in Ocala by alligators, only to later be identified by dental records.  This was the same Summer I once again gave servitude to a company I worked for, as, starstruck I listened to it’s elders for guidance, hoping that they would give me wisdom on how to grow up. I just wanted someone to tell me things like, “Don’t do drugs.” or ask if I knew where babies came from. No dice. I learned much about being a teacher, figuring things out on my own, and how to allow heroes to step off of the pedestal every once in a while to give them a break. Heroism was as exhausting for them as my need for a hero was for me.
This is the same Summer I slept only hours a night, seeking solace in the people who lived  most extremely. Everything was liberally done. Including damage. Facebook reminded me of this Summer today.

Facebook loves to remind you of things, and also today it reminded me that three years ago today I was in the Giants stadium in San Francisco. I took a job with a theatre company out there, being hired with stars in my eyes by a beautiful, charismatic, brilliant leader.

I will remember a few things about that place:

Mount Tamalpais : I climbed and climbed and climbed. I was searching so desperately for some warmth in this place I had come for work. I mean, there was no way for it to live up to expectations, and the self loathing, reinforced by leaders, was verbose. Mount Tam was a metaphor for the EXTREME sadness I was feeling, the worthlessness I had assigned myself. I was trying to get up and out, trying to see the world more clearly.

10416625_10154237577060453_1594024415542794170_n
The Pacific: Never have I walked so much on a beach. Never have I thrown so many questions to a body of water. And never have I considered pulling a Jeff Buckley more than in these weeks.

10370376_10154261979345453_7410840185821947786_n

Fort Point : The production I worked on took place here, and inside the walls you could find the signatures of all the men who were at the ready in the 1800’s for a war that never came. I learned every curve, every stone, every ghost.

10418207_10154164661370453_5044225428630223803_n
Golden Boy Pizza,  John, and Jamie: I knew already that I loved one of these yahoos, and the Jamie came later, brilliant, with a madman’s eyes, a poet’s heart, and a sailor’s soul. These two gentlemen, the patterns of good men, unknowingly kept me alive these months.

10456050_10154282386685453_1813369268981142519_n

The Giants : By God, they might be the most disappointing team in MLB right now, but they were a glorious constant then. There was nothing like sitting against a redwood in a forest with a game being funneled into my ears. There was something to root for. There was a home team. Watching a no-hitter in that stadium was the highlight of my Summer.

10300425_10152568289993799_2008204039384854138_n

Facebook also reminded me:

Nine years ago today Michael Jackson died.

One year ago I was on Peak’s Island saying poetry to a new crowd.

13524513_10157045075070453_2437215884532072935_n

Seven years ago, I was getting ready to perform at the Eno River Festival in North Carolina with Rebecca, still eating fire, still being a Carolinian and a Nickel Shakespeare Girl.  Still loving and being in love with one of the best friends I ever had, and ever will have in this life or any after.

46905_10150235645605453_764026_n

Four years ago I was cooking for a family in the Berkshires for side money alongside one of the dearest, most rock-hard strong women I have ever known.

photo (20)

They became dear to me -to us- this family, and we became family to them. Sadly less than a year later, the patriarch took his own life, just like his father before.

 


One year ago my friend John was playing Lear in our show Dark Rooms. He knew he was dying, even then. A few weeks later, he was gone, and we were rehearsing a play he financed-literally his dying wish- about the first poet and the first prophetess. We spoke his name every day, and did our very, very best every moment. People came. People fell back in love. People fell in love for the first time. People grieved.

 

I am grateful for all of this, painful, joyful, wince-worthy, and formative. I hope I’m getting better at the four agreements. Thank God there won’t be a test.

“The time will come when diligent research over long periods will bring to light things which now lie hidden. A single lifetime, even though entirely devoted to the sky, would not be enough for the investigation of so vast a subject… And so this knowledge will be unfolded only through long successive ages. There will come a time when our descendants will be amazed that we did not know things that are so plain to them… Many discoveries are reserved for ages still to come, when memory of us will have been effaced.”
― Seneca, Natural Questions

 

 

Advertisements

I would love to, OR, how we might behold.

III
a guitar pick and a romp for the black cat
3 bands later it was still moving and
I could feel the calm start to seep in
We can rest here

(and the drummer’s mouth is open because he’s pounding, the guitar player broke his third string, the microphone is just receiving screams because after so many songs what is there to do but scream)

I can’t hear anything
and planets surge forward
in this two-horse town of trees
and all those barren bodies look in frenzy for the tonight in the ones next to them, across from them, upstairs from them, down the bar…
but the pounding is still ferocious
and how can they ignore
oh the best
part
when all the drinks bought make the guys on stage a little reckless and
shit gets louder, even
and each word is a prayer said over
sinewy arms, ringed fingers, nicotine lips…

And that fateful moment
“Thank you, Goodnight”
the white light blast our eyes
making women wish waterproof was for real
making stagger a zip code
making cabs chariots
making the cold night a question mark for the leftover
the lonely
the lascivious

the cold slaps me
and on nights like last night
I start running fast into the black
into the cold
splitting it in two
with The Queen is Dead across my chest
just to feel the blood pound into my face

I know it’ll come again because
the Pour house is there, the Lincoln there
and so many to see
and so many nights to
welcome
this breakneck, lovely cold splitting Midnight.

(when we replace the thought of us with birds, and release us into clouds that eat us whole, spitting out the seeds)
There’s a novelty to breathing
Held fast tight fat pockets grasping inside hand reaching
Angelwhere.
I wished you would hold me
Just for seconds of course
I can’t stay the course
I gotta bang-bang all over my psyche and talk future like
Wanting for ambition to take hold
Waiting for the wings to melt
I gotta slam into dem bones I see
In my dreams, vain, glorious
Wanting for a darker knight, a darker fight
A false fevering fleshed out soldier
Wanting more of that light, six shooters bright
But it just gets colder
Those sheets just get colder,
that sunbeam where you were gets colder.
That hotel room, that coffee those moments
Like smoke, get colder
A double A
double offering, the sky,  sucked us right in.
Changeling children and
Madly doting lovers reminded me that I could laugh.
For extra comfort I held my own hand.
And the blue up high had a circling bird
Tethered to Jehovah and the angels it flew circle wise into darker
Tree ridden areas for rest.
And I got a letter from Jehovah today.
Those chain letters that
piece together all of the unknowns

II
Whether I be chicken, deviant, cartoon mug or frost
I am shrouded in hair, black
guarded by feet, convex
healed by the same means,
warmed and cooled by the same summer and wisher
I can’t help but think that those rocks in
Virginia’s pockets each had a weight of their own
One, four pounds, one twenty
Each girded in express melancholy

I
Feel ten degrees warmer thinking of you
Gentility in approach
Fingers on the underside of my chin
Hands grasping lower back for fear of slipping
Perspiration lining the runway of spine and hip
Each freckle accounted for
Triple Decker sunshine candy girl has five feet
Of surging words for apathetic ears
I miss that room where boys dance on heads,
girls shake words from a stone
Jesus freaks with crayons pattern stigmatic guitar rifts
And Queen of nightlife moves through the room like some silver
Beauty ghost with eyes that stop trains
And hands that can hold a child with no fear
So yeah, I’ll spout them, three and with heart
I’ve run out of what calms the race, so we’ll see if
Grass will grow on faster ground
On hands made of war, and breath composed of brown eyes, wandering
Consumption just doesn’t work, but I keep it up despite
Monster premonitions and tighter belts

Angel come, come and fit fever on your wing
Angel run your hand through my eyes and pull out the softer girl
With hair of silk
thighs of green

thoughts of pounding hooves.

Secondary leaves, Or mid-life growth spurts

It’s been a solid three weeks since my little life began here in the deep south. In that time, I have figured out the GOOD grocery store, the BAD date sites, the BEAUTIFUL garden walks, the WILDLY FRUITFUL yard-sale neighborhoods, and the inevitable MIRROR UP TO NATURE that is alone time. All of this, of course, yields incredibly useful information, albeit sometimes with great discomfort.

There has not been great success personally in raising things from seed in my life. I am a scavenger of disposed-of plants behind grocery stores, and while those forgotten plants usually live in the world of dry, old, or ugly– I try to revitalize them and bring back some of the good old days of green living. But from seed? There was a pitiful tomato plant once. It yielded one lone tomato, about an inch in diameter.

1379732_946873620861_1135514883_n

It was a momentous occasion. My friend Caitlin and I divided it in two and ate it with panache, as we did many beautiful meals in that dearest old stinky house we occupied in Pittsfield Massachusetts, so many moons ago.

But, due to Memphis dirt, divinity, dedication, decidedly good counsel, and delicious Tennessee light, we have secondary leaves.

IMG_20170512_070425718

There does seem to be life here. In so many forms. The relish of fellowship, the love of music, the surge of urban art, the evolution of plants, neighborhoods and organizations, the REBIRTH of itself, the phoenix-like qualities of those who are marginalized –the sheer TENACITY of this resilient city is infectious on so many levels.

On this precipitous Friday, we look into that mirror, and rest with the ghosts who are becoming most transparent.

We wish them well, and they fade into thin air, like smoke.

“All things are engaged in writing their history…Not a foot steps into the snow, or along the ground, but prints in characters more or less lasting, a map of its march. The ground is all memoranda and signatures; and every object covered over with hints. In nature, this self-registration is incessant, and the narrative is the print of the seal.”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson

WARNING! MELANCHOLIC MUSINGS! or Let’s just read the funny papers

I have terribly neglectful of this blog. I think it is the general lack of mindfulness I’ve been experiencing. The Berkshires beat on like beautiful retired war heroes yawning at the sky and my snow peas reach for that sky. There is a melancholic air to all and as I am like every other human I am trying to unpack the story.

So many bad dates. So many nights without sleep. A summer that gallops apace without me at the company where I work. A summer that isn’t at all what I thought it would be at the other work. It’s been over a month since my dear friend passed and a little over a month until another one marries. I turn 40 in 27 days. Is this where most are at this juncture? I would love to know if it is.

My Mom always asked why I did things the hard way. Even without purpose. Leaving home early, choosing to wait on marriage, choosing an impossible field to work in, choosing impossible places to live, being on the road living in a tent for so long, having such a long period of being so sick, and fighting for what I believe in as opposed to watching injustice happen (even if I never live to actually see results for that fight) are the things she doesn’t understand about me and also the things she respects the most.

Sometimes, not most- but sometimes I tire of it.

And then sometimes it becomes the song I sing.

And sometimes, just sometimes on a bleak and beautiful cool Berkshire morning like this as the fan hums and the cat perches in the window and there is stillness and quiet– at these times- at this time- I just want to read the newspaper with someone and sigh in the knowledge that I have a partner in crime- and rest easy in the knowledge that this partner will not now or any time for the rest of our time need or want to go anywhere else.

Can I have both? Certainly. I think. As I get older I am underwhelmed by wooing antics and proclamations of obsessive love. With so much experience in love comes a great responsibility to be patient while the other party meanders like a Cocker Spaniel puppy through their feeling world. Recklessly banging around and pawing and overturning food bowls in the name of excitement. What I need is a great long beautiful sophisticated Great Dane. One who knows who he is. One who is completely fine with the space he takes up in the world. One who is OK with my days of Saint Bernard and my days of Chihuahua.

But I digress. Adventures continue. Love will continue. Seasons will pound on in fours and August will come and go and I will enter in to my fifth decade.

I laugh every day out loud and don’t think for a moment that I take that for granted.

I am just missing that puzzle piece. That one little one that becomes the priority.

Henry Rollins says this perfectly-

“I want a soul mate who can sit me down, shut me up, tell me ten things I don’t already know, and make me laugh. I don’t care what you look like, just turn me on. And if you can do that, I will follow you on bloody stumps through the snow. I will nibble your mukluks with my own teeth. I will do your windows. I will care about your feelings. Just have something in there.”

And that pretty much sums it up.

 

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.

Image

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

Image

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.

Image

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

Image

Pets. They help. A lot.

ImageImage

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

ImageImage

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.

Image

.

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:

Image

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

Image

A little trip to the promised land.

ImageAnd so we return from Mecca. Exhausted. Unshowered. Fulfilled. Road weary. 16 states. 26 hours of driving. 30 mix CDs. Time with 18 different friends. 1200 miles. Terrible food. Wonderful Food. Too much food. Sweet Tea. One Grotto. One Apple Orchard. A million moments of gratitude. Lots of tickling. 4 billion hugs. Silliness with a 7 year-old. Silliness with a 3 year-old. Silliness with a baby. Silliness in general. More hugs. Hoarse throat from singing with Caitlin driving through New York, Pennsylvania, Maryland and other states. Player’s Retreat. Possible work offers. Nostalgia. Melancholy. Going back to the Ampitheatre. Going back to the teaching Theatre. Going back to the Mainstage. Falling in love with the Shimmer Wall. Seeing the huge new world at the Science Museum. Talking a lot about the Nickel Shakespeare Girls. Loving. Living. Being as alive as is possible. Every day.

ImageThis one I love.

ImageAnd this one.Image

Also this one.

Raleigh nights remind me of so many things. Danger, love, terror, losing my mind a few times, laughing, late fits of artistic frenzy, desperation, learning, making love, being anesthetized, all those crazy kids. bands, and almost losing it all.

 Locked rooms and locked doors and

Sun bursting through the cracks

 I smash my face against the rock to feel it

My imagination allows me your breath

You see, I’ll never see you again

Light, night, reeds the smell of

green and leather and blue, deep purple

Filled with little feet

And I can’t see you for the lights through the door

I can’t see for the vein on your hand

The freckles on your cheek

Wrinkled knuckles

Time weary eyes

I seek, I sue, I breathe in Technicolor

One touch will never

Can never be

Fingers of yellow fill your eyes

Peel your spine right from you

Peel your skin

You would be my skeletal lover

Wrapped sharply, sucking heart matter

Leaving me with one real touch

And a memory of jade

Wines, wires, party games, wind

I love you I said and he knew

I adore you I said and his mouth found me.

I worship you I said as he walked away

And I name the days (This skeletal lover)

For each piece of your vertebrae, each constellation

Every day my body shrinks [Blackout.]

Lover, come home.

 

but, for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more news too:

Greek Night. Bitches.

Orange Mustard Dill Roasted Leg of Lamb

Image

Briam: Zuchinni, Tomatoes, potatoes, red bell peppers, Olive Oil, Capers, White Sugar, Dill, Oregano, Salt, Pepper, Garlic, White Vinegar

Spanakorizo: Spinach, Onions, Garlic, Dill, Tomatoes, White rice or Orzo, Salt, Pepper

Dill and Orange Tilapia: Dark Mustard, Orange Juice, Dill, Oranges, Garlic, Oregano, Lemon Juice, Lemon Rinds

Greek Honey Orange Cake (Made by the Caitlin) ((She is single)) (((You’re welcome)))

Homemade Hummus and Tzatziki

A good, exhausting day. We start moving in tomorrow. Oh Boy. I might poop or puke.

Anxiety: High

Hope: High

Worry: Low

Want to get on with it: Sky High.

A poem:
Mama saw Icarus Fly
I can say anything to you, I said.
In the quiet of the fur-lined bellows
yellow treeswooden bones
snow tongue
flat feet
wobble knees
You can whisper so nobody will hear
thinking I won’t listen
But Hero-I let it fill brow to toe.Empty enemies with empty coffers
wonder where you went.
Mama had a story
covered in the same grass, free of fire
filled, delectable salt water
waiting, waiting to be heard.She watched far off this encounter
Papa was in his huge airplane
proud, beautiful, uniformed mustached Papa.
Dutiful daughter ran to the field to watch.
Lovely pink toes
tight, bright, slight punch bodyto see take-off
He: Pilot, Poet, Deity
She: Lover of roar, wind, heat, arms
It only took two minutes for the engine to catch
barely off ground.Young baby girl could not believe her eyes.
Blue lit up with flame like St. Petersburg noon sun.
(She knew it so well)
In this moment she grew woman-wise in quiet.
Blinking took hours.
The thought to walk wouldn’t reach her feet.
She washed her hands ten times a day.
The ash was like cotton rain.

Image

Good Night.

Doing what is right and cutting the tip of my thumb off.

 

 

So today I went in with my cohorts and did an Asian feast.

Spicy peanut Chicken: 20 pounds of chicken soaked in spicy peanut sauce. Peanut Sauce: Peanuts, Peanut Butter, Garlic, Chiplotle. Lime, Salt, Pepper, onions, Cumin. Did I mention Garlic? Chipoltle? Yes. Olive Oil. Orange juice. Cranberry Juice. As you were.

Ginger Teriyaki Pork and steak with peppers and onions: Flank Steak, Pork Loin, Teriyaki Sauce, four huge heads of Ginger, Garlic, Salt, Cumin, a bit of Cinnamon, a bit of Cranberry juice, Olive Oil… Add rice.

Homemade Spring Rolls! This is a lengthy process. Beware. It’s fun, but lengthy, you must have paitience. Shred these veggies- Yellow Squash, Zuchinni, Mushrooms, Carrots, Brusell sprouts, red peppers, green peppers, onions. Make a beautiful mix. These are pretty together. Add shredded fresh ginger and lime. Salt. Pepper- NOT to overpower the ginger. Ginger is key. Garlic. Take wonton wrappers into a diamond. Place mixture in middle. Wet top corner and do burrito wrap. Deep fry for 2 minutes. DO NOT LET ENTIRELY BROWN. Serve with peanut sauce, Ginger teriyaki Sauce and Sweet Chili Sauce. These are a game changer.

Today I learned this about the number 51:

51 is one of the most powerful numbers of the 6 series. Pandit Sethuraman opines that those whose names vibrate to this powerful number start from a humble origin* and advance to unimaginable heights. Ideas will flash like lightning and there will be an abundance of energy in both body and mind. Such people are able to work for very long hours, get less sleep but speedily progress to their goals. It is a very fortunate number.

  • I have lived at a 51 for a year and am moving into a new 51 in less than a week. I am sure it means something.

There are a million endearing qualities about people. I tend to notice laughs. And good laugh lines. I witnessed these tonight while playing Cards Against Humanity. I cannot help but notice what is handsome or beautiful. I see it everywhere. Blessing/Curse.

So I am trying to do the right things. I am trying to be calm and push through. The whole December thing is waning and I feel more in control of my heart. I am sleeping more. Eating.  Being more aware. Being more caring. Having less fun. You know, as it all was before. But maybe there is that beautiful middle ground somewhere.

We start moving in soon. It feels real. It feels scary and exciting. And ultimately it feels much like a commitment which I am always adverse to. I am lucky, though. I am not in it alone. And I am finding that no matter what I do, surprisingly, I am NEVER in it alone.

I love you with so much of my heart that none is
	left to protest.- Beatrice
%d bloggers like this: