consuelacooks

cooking, poetry, and unapologetic intense moments in a life

Category: orgasm

Photos to fuel your Cupidity

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As you were….

-Carm

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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

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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BS

Let’s talk about Brussel Sprouts.

They are one of my favorite veggies, if not my absolute. Why do people cringe at the very thought of them?

Because our youthful and naive families believed that the only way to cook them was to boil them. AWFUL TRUTH.

The Brussel sprout is a lot like the sign of Cancer. It wears its heart on it’s sleeve. It doesn’t want to fool around with going back to the water. It’s loving and full and beautiful. It doesn’t want conflict. It’s a lover. Not a fighter.

When I make these beauties I chop them in half, throw some garlic and olive oil on them, salt and pepper them and saute them right until they get a little crispy, throw a dash of balsamic on them and remove from heat. Eat them immediately so’s ya get a little bit of the crunch   and sit back and taste the vegan earth (or whatever). For those who dare: throw bacon in with that shit. That’s the real yum. For those a little more daring? Throw a bit of cream cheese in after the balsamic WITH the bacon and you will have what the French call la petite mort.

And never shall have length of life enough
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes
that it may grow and sprout as high as Heaven
-Henry Iv, Part II
la petite mort

la petite mort

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