Day 7

i love the warmth
in winter developing
of hot black tea
in cool white milk

Day 6

clean up, isle 2
three kitties to isle 2
cat food spillage on isle 2

Day 5

the stains are on his ego
her heart pumping obligatory venom
strung together through acts
of ill gained fate and tropes
intended to reinforce the errors
apparent in their daily lives

bibliophilia meets paintbrush

in other words, this guy is awesome!

Day 4

does rowdy know we watch him sleep,
and does he know we think he's sweet
when he uses his little feet
like human hands to eat a treat?

Day 3

we hid the night away under thick blankets
and rose to the scent of a bright morning sun

Day 2

there are two sides
to every story

so there should be two sinks
to every kitchen

Project Three Six Five - Day 1

every day of this, my 26th year, i will take a picture and post it here along with a few lines of original poetry. well, that is if everything goes according to plan.

here's a picture from a few days ago (cheating already, i know) from my birthday celebration. pictured on the left is Kristen, on the right, Cat. guess what sort of cupcakes they're eating from the poem ^_________^




peanut butter lover
loves girls with bold smiles
and legs that reach the floor.

monday moves

there are three hundred
and sixty degrees to view from

but she only sees me
in black and white

between sheets and in the kitchen
her nature is my crutch -

i miss her

on monday morning board meetings
over styrofoam cups of cheap coffee



the daily figure - monday moves

kissing therapy

for all the men she ever

i exposed him to american institutions
and peanut butter and fluff sandwiches

but even then i could not refuse
his gesture of province and gentleman's swagger

to make up for the misplaced sugar cubes
in his cafe con leche - my obvious act of betrayal

we engage in the act of love poetry
and stencil drawings of birds eating road kill

he calls it committing crimes of passion
i call it therapeutic, but then, i'm the obvious one

two likes

collaborate

daily figure

nordic trapper

trapped in an Icelandic cafe

with nothing but vanilla beans
and shapely women in grey dresses
and hard-toed suede boots

drawing on the scents of ritual

and Nordic explorers
who left their genetic mark
visible by the blond barista

behind the chest-high counter

where you ordered your fifth petite four
and another round of lattes
for the Austrian students

who missed their connection to Vancouver

good november, my dear

woken up to the inspiration
of six remaining Macintosh apples
from the party he threw last night

their skin loose, begging to be peeled
and the flour at the ready
for sifting and mixing

the tingle and swift smell of all spice
nutmeg and cinnamon tangled
between soft slices of baked apple

filling the house with
wooden spoon spun wonder
on the first morning of a favorable month

good morning, November,
good day October, thank you for the treats
for the spices and wild turkey parades

on perfection

we do what makes marriages
consummate and contented

and follow it up with seven
perfect hours of sleep

whoopie with rose marshmallow filling

simple

it's simple.

i like a warm cup of smooth, green tea and a cereal bar when i get to work.

i like a planned dinner with two girlfriends on a wednesday night.

i like my husband. he gets excited about tv shows 10 months before they air.

i love my husband. he helps sort out the grown-up things that i can't do alone.

it's wednesday. i have some simple responsibilities. i also have a bag of bulbs, which i left on the kitchen floor, waiting to be planted at the weekend.

dear hojicha

slow soaked and roasted over
remembering the dirty rain
stomping down on dirty Osaka

thinking about the north and
that play we saw on the street
by the Kamogawa in Kyoto

on our way to the seven eleven
for cash and breakfast cakes
to foot the hunger building up

back in the south an old man
at the side of the pavement
offered us a cup of Hojicha

he joined us on our walk up
to the tennoji station
where we took the train

back to friendly juso
where my cousin introduced us
to takiyaki and burnt tongues

we lost the old man to the udon bar
situated on the corner
by the Panasonic bike shop

matcha oreo pies

i felt inspired to use up some of the matcha in my cupboard so i took this recipe and made these: Matcha Woopie Pies with Oreo Cream Filling!

neatorama = new favorite website

neatorama

krishna

i.

have us
accept us
and worship us
with pursed lips


ii.

at the fall of an older god
a young lover bursts

the rampage of hungry fingers
and eyes that see through time

we grant this defeat and grovel
like school girls at your feet

holy and unsavory trickster
that this god has let us taste

the true divinity of sex
with bare and dirty hands

Dear Mr. Stewart Lee

Dear Mr. Stewart Lee,

I would like to dine with you.
Perhaps lunch on a mid-week day?
Any season will do.

We should go somewhere small,
Ethnic, yet chic.
Do you enjoy Thai food?

Yes, lunch on a weekday
at a comely Thai restaurant
would be lovely.

I would like to dine with you
and discuss the like and works
of the Romantics poet William Blake.

If you're interested too,
you can contact me via e-mail
to decide on the time and date.

Affectionately,
Katy Acheson

p.s. You look better with hair.

object(ion)

i have been writing a poem a week.

these poems of which i speak can be found at objects of imitation: a community blog of beautiful poets.

you could join. just write a poem in the comments section of one of the now four prompts available.

top 100?

Top poetry Blogs

i got a comment from someone at the Daily Reviewer saying i've received an award for being among the top 100 poetry blogs on the interwebs. i'm not sure what the site is, or how viewed or credible. and i'm too sick with flu-plague to go seeking out answers to these questions.

whether the award is credible or not, the fact that i received honors makes me suspect it as dubious on account of the fact that of all poets with blogs i took place. i have about 3 readers and have written all of 2 poems in the last month--whch hardly merits a top 100 award.

maybe though, i can take this as a little motivator to get back into blogging, pack into poeting.

the feelings in

a warm hand on a cool back at 7am
is always better than an alarm clock

black and white

Hash Browns for Breakfast!

step one: peel three small white potatoes (golden russet are better i'm told, but we have a bag of white taters to use up).

step two: cut in half and push the halves through the shredding blade on our super-super-heavy silver food processor.

step three: season with pepper.

step four: allow a cast iron skillet to heat up on medium/low heat with oil (we used ghee).

step five: evenly spread potatoes across bottom of the pan, season with salt.



step six: after approximately 5 minutes, check that the bottom of the hash brown is a crispy brown.

step seven: cut in four and flip.



step eight: cook for another 4 minutes.



step nine: EAT!

join us

new want list

i've officially wanted these for 4 months now:

tokidoki wellies



need a new bag... and this is what i want to use for an extra large wallet in my future (biggish) bag:

recycled clutch by ecoist



also on the list are the following unspecified wants:

• jeans
• big happy purse/bag... maybe from sari bari?
• new winter coat (purple?)
• new bright colored hoodie
• new shower curtain

the undertow

we agree; hurrican season presents
the perfect season
for parties on the beach,
for wet dresses and strong tides.

something new

objects

to this

under braced waves frozen mid-fold
at the mouth of the canal

your suit sullied with grass
and mud and sap and blood

my dress torn provocatively
at the shoulder and hip

the ice from the waves burns
our bare feet and our breath

manifests in weak clouds of mist
after each passionate kiss

decided upon by a look
of mutual exhaustion

from the dragon slaughter
and failed escape attempts

this, this and this

pretty interests


trees can paint too


a pretty waste of time

watered down

we breached the gap in time
to watch the whales parade

like floating effigies of themselves
among dolphins and canoeing tourists

splashing as they waved
to women and children

in protective wet-weather clothing.

but our adventure began
the following eve

as our ship began to sink
under the weight of too many laughs

and empty soda cans
left from friends who've visited.

panic stricken we called them up
on cb radios and plastic walkie-talkies

to ask for advice
on our sinking ship

and in reply came the first song
of a baby whale to its mother

our tears added to the oncoming sea water
as we listened to the sweet song

that caused our boat to sink faster
but we gave in to the sea

and took up inhabitants
with the striped bass and green crabs.

on a bird

we un-juxtapose nature and technology
to initiate some growth on science
with note pads and clip boards
and the kind of pens that work in space
beings the study of birds in back yards
their mating patterns, calls and feather loss
against the whining of a lawn mower
as its blades get caught in a vine

good morning pop tart!

using this fine recipe from No Fear Entertaining, i decided to start the morning off with a little baking.

they came out quite little (about half the size of a normal pop tart) as a result of my willy nilly pizza cutter antics on the pie pastry, but you can make them any size or shape you fancy. and the dinosaur sprinkles really add to the appeal, i think; there are only two left a mere half hour out of the oven.




sleepy baker:

just got back from Twin Peaks

had the most marvelous time in the woods for a week. am feeling slightly more centered, and that feels really good.

pilot program 5

let's make a packed with nature
dealing in sweat and shaking limbs
with regal Douglass fur

pilot program 4

let's fill the corners a shower room
with soaps, oils, gels and foams
snatched up from the corners of the world
from Beruit to Philadelphia
and Kyoto to New Castle
so that every bathing experience
is a uniquely scented moment

pilot program 3

let's take these diet supplements
with more low-fat dairy and leafy greens
to combat the effects
of ongoing childhood in the kitchen

playing house by the instructions
on the back of a mac & cheese box

made with organic cheese powder
just as it's found in nature
pouring off mac & cheese trees like pollen.

pilot program 2

let's take a look at all the properties
of hot tea on warm summer nights
and the effects it has on burning hearts
of friends and loved ones with mosquito bites

and a control group of brits
with sterling attitudes worth all the trouble
of learning the colloquial vernacular
so we can communicate with them

a message to ahmad, ashraf and michelle

Ahmad, Ashraf, Michelle,

thank you all so so so so much. all three of you came flying in today with careful and caring words that helped me carry through the one, devastating comment that also happened to fall on me today. it's terrible how one negative comment can do more damage than the good work of three amazing people seem to be able to when one is feeling so low...

i am getting better. i started a journal and that's helping me work through some of my spiritual dilemmas.

there's still a lot of work to be done on the whole happy thing though. you are all part of that process and i don't want you to go unthanked, ever.

it's curious and wonderful that all three of you landed in my inbox today. right when i needed you... i'll consider this a coincidence... but i also get a feeling of being connected somehow... spiritually too. sounds a little hokey, but so what, i do.

i love all three of you.

xoxo
katy

pilot program 1

let's try to settle our disputes
in small pre-arranged battles
between ropes and beams
and crowds of adoring fans
with booker stubs from wages made

let's fight like men with something to lose
and bitter hate for one another
until the match is decided
for the winner to bow
and the loser to win the hearts of onlookers

let's give it a smashing name
and put someone in charge
of our character development
so we can turn our disdain
into profit.

thanks for nothing anonymous commenter

in reply to this post

Anonymous said...
Is thát why..

getting to know you as a writer on WET - a cool, sexy poetess - I wondered what happened to her?
There's now a girlie housewife obsessed with weight and loss - nothing cool or sexy anymore - where's your life ?

*****

my first gut reaction to this comment is anger. i typed out a variety outraged responses, non of which i posted, but decided it would be much better for me to lay my full response out where everyone will see it.

let's start with "getting to know you as a writer on WET". aside, possibly, from craig, no one on wet poems got to know me through those poems. the blog was dedicated to a very specific, very sexy genre of poems; all of which are only a small component in the whole me (both as a poet and a person).

"what happened to her?"
someone deleted the blog. thanks for that, now all those poems i posted are lost.

not much of the first bit of the comment bothered me too much. as much as i'd still like to have that outlet, i can do the same work here when i chose. it also taught me to be a bit more careful about saving my work. a lesson that needed learning (and still needs a bit of teaching... i can be a bit careless with my work).

what really upsets me about the comment is the description: "girlie housewife obsessed with weight and loss".

the world obsessed to me is one of those extreme descriptors which only sounds appropriate or acceptable coming from the mouth of the person it describes. i could say "i'm obsessed with cupcakes" and mean it in an admitting and playful way; whereas, if one of my friends were to say it, i would likely take it accusingly--as an offense. i don't think you can tell someone they are obsessed with something without implying that the obsession is a problem and should be fixed.

obsessed with weight. no. concerned about my physical well-being, health and confidence? definitely. though the numbers do signify what is healthy for me and what is not, the weight i chose to reach on weight watchers was decided by what their books say is a healthy weight for my age and height.

obsessed with loss. can you call the loss of a family member an obsession? especially considering he only passes away a month ago. considering too, that this was my first major loss. i don't think you can call this an obsession.

not sexy anymore?
i guess not so much in my poetry any more, now that i can strut this around instead of lose myself in fantasy. i've not had to fill the gap as much now that i've become more comfortable with myself as a physical entity.

and finally, where is my life? do you want a laundry list of my daily activities or just a general overview?

although this comment doesn't warrant this response, and although i admit i'm too angry to really be writing this at all (trying to keep myself from saying too much), this is part of what i'm dealing with right now, in trying to open up and talk about my reactions to people and events. this is the sort of comment i usually allow to go without response. at most, i may have deleted. but really, i'm hurt by the comment, by the tone and the implications and i can't let that rest inside me.

so... thank you, anonymous, for making me feel even more insecure about sharing my emotions and thoughts with the people who chose to read my blog. and just when i was starting to feel a bit better about having shared all those deep-seeded, emotional struggles.

if you'd rather read a lot of sexy poetry, try another site.

i'm blue

i've been conspiring to do this for a little while now, and i'm overwhelmingly pleased with the results. thanks to my amiga Tracy, it came out better than i ever expected. ^_^

jack is a good gardener

UFC 100

to celebrate the most anticipated rematch in UCF history, we're going to watch the event at our pal Jerry's house. he has a projector, so the fighters are life size which makes it even more exciting.

i like to contribute to the spread, and since there are lots of guys who like spicy goodies, it's a nice place to flash my spicy cookie muscles.

i use this recipe minus the cinnamon and triple the amount of cayenne. this time too, because we had them, i used white chocolate chips instead of the chunks (though i do love the chunks).

tracking

i learn my way through the city
from one farm stand to the next

great white

i watched as the modern world burst open.

from below, the bellowing of twisted metals
churning into new shapes and the pain
of asphalt and earth shattering
as the metals reach uninhibited for the skyline.

bold white tubes of steel with tracks like tendrils
sweep past me with ballet finesses
smooth but devastating.

i watched as the people here clamber aboard
the great white beasts and ride their veins
like children on roller coasters
swift, gleeful interludes to the morning commute.

the screams of joy indistinguishable
from the agony of the planet, as monsters burst
in all shapes in all cities
from Umeda to Brookline
the world is waking up.

Dream Me Umeda

a handsome man you seem to know
takes you to a love hotel
overlooking the glowing rivers
you see the future in sickly tremors
bright yellow poisons
seeping from hidden positions
but in the hotel you're separated
what kind of love hotel is this?
frustrated and angry flee
only to get lost in the city
a man points out a fruit stand
you're in Umeda, he screams
smiling and waving his hand
this is the best part he demands
pointing upwards as ferris wheels
with people on board
are raised like giant white monsters
in the middle of an unfamiliar square
where a small italian girl
helps you find the subway grid
and gets you home just in time
to realize you'll be late again
but healthy old women assure
there's no work to be done any more
relax, have breakfast and forget about that man
you thought you loved
but couldn't have

ailing me

obligations are responses
in careful order and these ones
to falling asleep
while watching a piece
on Leonard Cohen.

i waned in and out
of the selfish state
some kind of paralysis
while wainrights, caves and crockers
sang songs of his
and told stories of discovery
and beautiful first encounters.

i relived mine in a dream
where i spoke with Leonard as he stood
wearing a nice suit
telling me about his father
and describing his obsessions
over women and mythologies.

asleep on a sofa
with a cat at my feet
until i woke and teared again
against all the social means
have made myself ill
with sick thoughts and self loathing.

if i could just accept it
Leonard told me to embrace it
but when i wake the guilt settles in
and i begin to think of everyone else
what to do for them
at the epoch of my tragedy.

the tale of a carrot cake

First of all... thank you to Mary K, Ana-Maria Bell and Nicole Beaudoin for introducing me to carrot cake. I always thought I hated carrot cake. But oh, how wrong was I! oh, so very very wrong!

I always thought I hated carrot cake. I suppose I just never tried good carrot cake. I'm not a fan of walnuts in... anything ('sept the odd maple ice cream), and seeing as how lots of carrot cake has them in, it's sort of natural that I just assumed I wouldn't like carrot cake. Also, how desperate was the person who first put carrots in cake? Or... how pregnant?

Regardless, I'm not the sort of person to turn down trying something new (even if it's a something I think I probably don't like). Nicole brought a lovely carrot cake into the office one afternoon and since I'd not remembered the last time I ever tried carrot cake, I did (try it I mean). And it was better than I thought. Actually, it was pretty marvelous.

So then when little miss Ana-Maria made carrot cake cupcakes and kindly offered me one, I decided to go for it. Variety--you know, to confirm that I liked it. And I did (like it I mean).

Fast forward a few months to Bunny's hen party: Mary K shows up with a box of little cakes. One of these types of little cakes has carrot-shaped frosting designs. I had one of them for breakfast and guess what? I LOVED IT!

That's when I decided I had to make my own. So I went researching until I found THIS recipe via food gawker.

So tonight, my lovely wife Liz came over and we made this little carrot cake together ^_^ which turned out rather marvelous.

I exchanged oil for apple sauce (as I wasn't taking Ryan's tastes into concideration and I am rather found of the way apple sauce substitutes for oil as a healthy and moister alternative) and we added a bit more spice than we were meant. It was amazing. Moist, sweet, happy carrot cake.

Because it was so lovely and I'm sure to make it again soon, I want to preserve it (as a recipe and a little story). So here it is:

Ingredients
1 cup all purpose flour
1 cup granulated sugar
2 servings of Motts' no-sugar-added apple sauce (i bought the individually portioned cups because they were on sale and i can take one to school or work instead of having a half full jar in the fridge)
2 large eggs
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp nutmeg
1/2 tsp all spice
1 tsp cinnamon
pinch of salt
2 cups of finely shredded carrots (large, organic, sweet, juicy)

Directions
Combine sugar and apple sauce in a large bowl until mixed well. Incorporate eggs. Add eggs one at a time, beating well (i just used a fork and it came out splendiferous).

Combine flour, spices, baking soda and baking powder together. Add dry ingredients to wet mix and stir until fully incorporated.

Feel free to add nuts, raisins, whatever. (Because it was my first go at carrot cake, I kept it really simple.)

Pour into two, greased 7" round pans (or 9" or square or cupcake tins or whatever you have lying around...).

Cook at 350 degrees for 25 minutes or until the top is slightly brown or a toothpick can pierce the cake without any gooey cake insides stuck on it when you pull it out.

Cream Cheese Frosting
Beat 8oz of cream cheese with 1/2 cup (one stick) of unsalted butter until mixed well. Add 1 tsp of vanilla extract and 1 and 1/2 cups of confectioners sugar. Beat on low speed until combined. Add cream cheese, vanilla and/or sugar to taste. I added extra vanilla for a slightly less cheesy taste.

These amounts for the frosting will give you a thin layer for a two layer cake. You may choose to make more frosting for decorating. For the carrots I made, I used gel color to make a small amount of green and orange frosting, then pipped the design by hand (obviously, ha!).

the key to joy

(and why i've been a miserable lump lately)

i prefer to keep my negative emotions a secret. in part because i feel selfish when i lay all my worries and hurts on the table (especially in front of people with their own worries and hurts to deal with), and in part because often it's just easier to throw those worries and hurts to the way side.

chin up, smile the blues away, la-de-da.

i also like to keep negative emotions locked away for preservation of character. i place great importance in being liked and respected by others. i do whatever i can to be kind and am always thinking of others (putting others before myself). i work hard and try to keep a positive exterior to earn the respect and affection of others. when people think of me, i want them to think positively.

but the price of keeping everything under wraps (pretending to be happy jolly katy) is starting to take its toll on me. the other night, while working at two brothers pizza, i began to fall apart. the clock ticked by slower than ever, the tickets kept coming, it was hot, i was angry and sad and self pitying. my ill mental state soon manifested in the physical state of shaking, vomiting and crying (all of which no one working with me seemed to notice... they all just assumed i was hot? tired? what?). by 10 of 10 i couldn't take it any more. i asked someone to finish for me and clocked out.

before going home i curled up in a ball in my car and sobbed. i was paralyzed with unhappiness. after 10 or so minutes, i muscled up and made it home as fits of rage and depression washed through me.

i got in the door, fell to the kitchen floor and dialed by boss, jimmy, who i'd just left without much of a word. though i'd given in my two week notice and this was my first of the last four nights of work there, i completely broke down. the call was to apologize for leaving the work place dirty still, and to tell him i was finished.

really finished.

what followed was what one looking in from the outside might title a panic attack (that's what ryan called it). what it felt like was the shattering of bones. the compression of organs. i could barely breath between uncontrollable sobs. that sounds melodramatic and writing about it feels false, but there was a complete breakage of being last night that i need to acknowledge.

i didn't just break, i'm still broken. i'm fragile and fatigued and just... well... unhappy. and although ryan doesn't want me to... i can't help but feel guilty, selfish and at fault for all my unhappiness.

my grandfather passed away not long ago now. the funeral service was a nice closing statement to his legacy. but it was that very funeral, whenever anyone said the phrase "better place", that i had my suspicions confirmed. i do not believe in life after death. i've heard so many people talk about it, feel it, know it, but i've never had to believe it myself until this loss. i'm not dealing with the loss well because i cannot believe that there is anything more to him now... what he had was amazing. he fought, loved, lived. he was an amazing character and a wonderful man, but he's just dust now. dust inside a pretty box. having realized this... maybe what i'm going through now is similar to what a child goes through when she first realizes she isn't imortal afterall. it's like crying because you see blood coming out of your knee even though it doesn't really hurt. the blood is proof that she can die.

i've tried to react positively to the news that we all die, that we don't come back as goats or bees or princesses or ghosts or angels. we don't come back. my rational reaction then, is to live this life to the absolute. i want to live, to accomplish, to be happy and healthy and vibrant. and i want to make this life the best for the people around me too. i'll have a cupcake if i want one, because this is heaven. saturday, i'm going to eat a cheeseburger from white hut and ride on the best rollercoaster in the world. i'm going to live. and i have a life partner who feels the same way, which should make it easier.

problem with this? yeah... that bit about making life better for everyone else... it overshadows the bit about me living.

i worked at two brothers for two years. i worked there fore three months too many. i should have put in my notice when i got back from japan. but i felt selfish feeling upset there (a terrible circle, i know, and i'm coming to realize this). i hate to give up, to throw in the towel. i'm apollo creed in his match against the russian. and two brothers sucked all the life out of me, all the fighting energy. maintaning a smile there... impossible. i had to give up. i just didn't do it soon enough and ended up making a fool of myself.

i made a fool of myself... stupid thing to say. i broke down. how is that foolish? well... i guess i let it get to that point in the first place, but the truth is, everyone is allowed to feel sorry for themselves once in a while right?

my grandfather's death, working hard at a shitty job with little reward and a lot of bother... those aren't the only matters at hand.

there's school too.

this thesis i'm writing is the hardest thing i've had to do. the hardest part is though, that i know if i set myself to it i could do it in a couple days and be done with it. so the actual work isn't the problem. the problem is this wall i've built between the real world and myself. i'm so scared of finishing school... so petrified of graduating. but why? self doubt maybe... fear of leaving the nerf envirnment supplied within these grey walls of the university? yeah. and fear of having to answer to someone, the fear of making real mistakes. those fears out weigh the potential for making a real world difference, for being successful.

thinking about it yesterday... even though it was for a class, i did actually make $1,000 for the animal shelter, and i could easily do it 100 more times. there's so much potential out there for me (within me), but i'm a nervous wreck about stepping out.

i don't want to be finished with school. but at the same time, i want to. i want to build a cook book of all my favorite recipes. i want to paint bird houses and hang them up on all the trees in my back yard. i want to write a graphic novel with my brother. i want to write grants. i want to blog and write poetry more. i want to live without the burdon of a paper and meetings with stan.

so what the hell is stopping me? fear?

i think about this all the time... this irrational fear that i can see through, but can't walk through... then i get frustrated with myself, angry at myself, and i shut down. i cry, i sleep, i waste days in front of the watch-it-now netflix que on our xbox 360... i waste a day and then i get even more upset at myself. the vicious cycle.

i get so mad, so scared, so unhappy that it makes my stomach hurt. that's when i try to supress it all, try to cover it all up and put on a smile. that's when i appologize to my friends for being tired or stressed, but smile and listen to their woes anyway. really, sometimes, i just want to explode, but i carry on for the better of those around me.

and it's not doing me any good.

but i still don't know how to be happy... i still don't know what the key is or what it unlocks. not yet anyway.

down

pile her up over pergo and vinyl
patterns on rotation
on display through Monday

then take her down
battered and worn
to sell for more

when the eyes fade
into the pools of the attack
the empty tissue box has stories

budding foodie

I took the "Are you a Foodie?" quiz on facebook the other day and got a top score. I had to guess all the questions about foods with French names, but I guess my daily visits (addiction) to foodgawker has actually taught me about more than just cupcakes.

I was surprised at the quiz results. I know it's just a facebook quiz that could have been made by just about anyone (although, I suspect my high school Spanish teacher), but it still hadn't occurred to me that I might be a foodie. Maybe Ryan's fanatic burger enthusiasm and thirst for exciting, new food adventures has rubbed off on me a bit, but then there's also my new love for food which has stemmed from my weight loss.

Ah, weight loss. I have lost weight (note, past tense), but I still work every single day--no, every meal--to keep those pounds off. Working in an ice cream shop doesn't exactly make the maintenance easy either.

Settling into a new healthier weight sounds easy, but it's proving to be just as difficult as the weight loss process itself. Falling into old bad habits, like allowing yourself a little sugar in your tea or opting for an egg cooked in butter instead of oil, is too easy.

My solution to falling backwards has to be a continuous effort to negotiate with myself; to take a few minutes before each meal or snack to decide if, for example, a small ice cream with hot fudge or a slice of pepperoni and bacon pizza is really worth the same to me as a day full of fresh fruits, veggies, or an oh-so-lovely earl gray soy latte. These are my daily battles with food. Comfort food is such a strong and debilitating crutch. Trying to run without it is nearly impossible at times, but what I can do is re-define comfort.

Dropping the "food" from comfort is a gigantic leap, and one I'm not sure I'm totally ready for yet. So instead, how about comfort cooking? This is where the foodie buds appear. Food blogs and recipe sites (including Weight Watchers' website) are my arsenal towards building a comfort cooking base. Instead of sneaking into the fridge or cupboards to gaze over the foods there, I can turn on the computer and drool over the innumerable beautiful displays of food available. This satiates that craving the mind has for food. I fantasize about food. We all do. Think, how many times have you turned to food out of boredom? Peeking around the kitchen is not a reaction to hunger, and so the virtual food curbs the same cravings. But that's not all...

Food blogs and the like actually work to inspire me to try new ingredients and combinations. Who ever came up with roasting oranges and asparagus together must have been terribly bored, but wow.

So maintenance is about experimenting for me. The more new, healthier habits I form now, the more successful I become and the better I feel physically and mentally. My next adventure comes tomorrow when, for the first time in the four years I've lived in Sandwich, I'm going to visit the local farmers' market. The quest: to see what awesome stuff I can come home with for $20. Should be exciting.

red, white and blue

happy 4th!

asexual stevedore

for jenni baker




i saw an old mexican totting a cigar
his belly a mild bulge from beer and salsa con queso

construction workers building boats in locks
in skullies and sullen brows in Essex

ignore Carmen's dance, the floral tease
who pleasures herself then cries to sleep on the weekends

their interconnected miserable desires missed out
to the bear learning tricks for the circus

Eulogy to Pa

Robert Regan, affectionatly known to me as Pa, was born on October 31st of 1934 and died on June 10th of 2009. His funeral service was held at St. Mary's in Dedham on June 26th. I read the following at his service:


Pa had a red pick up truck. When I was little. I don’t know exactly how little… when we lived in the apartments at Bahama Drive and he would come visit, I could see his red truck from my bedroom window. I’d get so excited to be the first one to see him coming I’d shout Pa’s Truck! So fast and enthusiastically that it came out of my mouth (with a Boston accent) PARK! So I called him Park for the first part of my life.

But a red pick up truck is not the icon I associate closest with my Pa. To this day, it’s a piece of ripped paper towel that always makes me think of him.


When Meaghan and I were little, Mom and Dad used to take us to Pa and Irene’s house where we’d spend the day playing bar tender at Pa’s Budweiser Emporium in the basement. The bar was fancy, done up in everything Bud from a singing can to a clydesdale clock. I remember my favorite thing to do was use his ice crusher. Meaghan and I used to sing on Irene’s microphone. We’d venture into the wilds of the unfinished half of the basement to get ice pops from the freezer. For a while, too, there was a fish tank full of colorful neons and a little frog until Pa was kind enough to adopt Meaghan’s beta fish and it ate every last living thing in the tank.

Most of all though, I remember one very brief moment clearer than anything. It was a moment where something was said that probably didn’t have the weight and meaning behind it that I associate with it today. I was trying to tear a piece of paper towel off the roll and only got most of it off. A corner hung off the roll. Pa pulled it off and handed it to me and he said “Regans always use the whole piece of paper towel.”

It didn’t mean anything. Except it means everything to me now. Pa was never the kind of person to do something in part. He always finished what he started. He always took the whole piece, the whole project. He took life whole. He loved with his whole heart. And h e fought with his whole spirit and nerve.


So now not only do I take the whole piece of paper towel, but I take on the whole of life and love. Pa taught me to live life to the fullest. To be whole. And although a little piece of life feels like it’s missing now. It really isn’t. He lived his whole life the way he wanted to, and this, this is part of life too. As hard as it is now, he’s brought us together, brought us together to remember him as a whole person who impacted the whole lives of everyone around him.

Missing him is part of the whole.

bio grog

(a pro-earth pirate mission statement)

ahar! least i be worried, yar,
of the land be gettin' smaller

for i am a beard what sails the seas
of the world from port to port

but the fishin' been sparse
since you land lubbers started

harken yer cares to the wayside
and killin' all yer animals and trees

how's a pirate to avoid gettin' scurvy
if you lubbers can't grow a lime? harhar!

so i be brewing a new grog
that'll put golden hairs on yer chest

made from all natural, organic
secret ingredients from the depths

yarhaaaar!!!

human cat

rowdy learned to drink water from a bottle after seeing his big bro jack do it.



now whenever anyone drinks water water from a bottle, rowdy wants some too. he's cute, but annoyingly persistant.

image by ana-maria bell

shenanigan dreams and hoopla scenes

this place is burned into my memory
so vivid, so sad, what if i am the butterfly?

i close my eyes and i see
swimming through the warm pools of my memory
the silhouette of a figurine in the corner
tinkering with lullabies
in the blue truth of bitterness

a tricky fairy plays in the drapes
she is whimsical and a little mean
dimpled and plump like a friendly fire

i know this place so well i see it
sculpted in daisies and gumdrops

but if thunder should crack
to break the seal of this fuzzy whimsy
i would wake to see dina
trying on dresses and shoes
the sequins catching the lingering light
and reflecting through an old bent mirror

you can't

i told her you can't
come up to a strange bloke
kiss him like that
then smile like that
and just walk away
like that.

dang muttonchops

a frugal dawn approaches
the tenacious, sinking smell
of such a lemon dawn

in a pickle, what to do,
when in your dreams
you wear trousers in luxorious lam'e?

watch through lampshades

as kittens jump rope over the bones
of the failed lollipop monkeyshines
leaving acceptable twinkles.

Tony and Caroline

Tony is the DARE officer
at the local elementary school.

Caroline is a hair school teacher
and championship billiards player.

Tony breeds German shepherds, works out,
and goes deep sea fishing on the weekends.

Caroline follows the stock market and
wears lipstick and dresses to the grocery store.

Tony met Caroline during career day
in Mrs. Banner's class

at Tony's elementary school
where Caroline's niece attends the third grade.

to demonstrate her skills in front of the class
Caroline gave Tony a new hair cut.

the whole class agreed it suited him better
and that the two would make a fine pair.

to appease the hoards of children,
Tony asked Caroline on a date, and she accepted.

they went to dinner at a restaurant on the beach
and shared stories from their childhood.

dinner ended and as the sun set
Tony and Caroline held hands

walking down the beach in the orange glow
of dusk, avoiding small waves and sharp rocks.

the further they walked, the darker it got,
and the more stars they could see in the sky

until all other light disappeared
into the blue and white and yellow of the night

the stars grew bigger and brighter
and the couple felt as though they had walked for centuries

together, hand in hand, they walked
all the way into a different world

where wonder and love make the days glow longer
and the nights shine brighter

and monsters are defeated by honesty,
inner beauty and good intentions.

Tony and Caroline walked all the way
around the globe of this other world

until they made it back to the parking lot
where Tony's DARE car sat waiting

to take Caroline home where Tony left her
with a sweet good night kiss

and a promise to take her back
to that wonderful world they discovered together.


if there's a rocket tie me to it by snow patrol

sleepy sunday afternoon

pink

you offer condolence
all in forms of grace

and shades of roses
never before created

by nature or nurture
to hold with watery eyes

the memories of a man
so loved from afar.

Robert Regan

step one

drying her hair in
a festival of teas, scented soaps
and roses
dancing between arts
avoiding the painful heart of matters

4044

frank left me four pages
to share my monday night
dreams. i match his four
with tree rippened peaches
and raise the ocean as in
such a violent dream he
couldn't bare to trade.

it erupted from the colors
of sea side paintings. the
light blue of the sky
toying with the white
clouds and the dark blue
depths of the ocean capped
with that same tourmented
white. browns both faint
and strong depict the sand
and the people.

umar was packing, saying
how much the same
room had cost him. he
couldn't see the breaking
of time and the place
as i could.

waves crashing against
irrisponsible journalists
and bags filled with sand.

lights from the ferris
wheel flickered in and out
of view behind buidlings
amidst the growing fog
of this, a dark city.

the patio was lit too
perfect for the end of
the world, but i sat on
the soft cusions anyway
and watched him pack --
completely unaware of the
painting coming to life
behind him. the shinigami
crawled between us.

so this i understood,
the room was not cheap
for me either.

the people's awesome

mountain people

there is a town at the foot of the mountain
where all different kinds of people and animals live
in peace and curiosity.

the people and animals all come out of the mountain
from various lives on various worlds in various times
to live together at the foot of the mountain.

the people and animals have their memories
of previous lives and loves and losses,
and for some people it is hard to live there.

there are no myths about the mountain
only theories and questions, like do they die
when they come out of the mountain? or is that how they are born?

is life inside the mountain, inside their memories
a dream or a hoax? or is this life in this town
at the foot of the mountain, actually the dream?







inspired by: this video

blogging

i've been reading Richard Herring's Blog lately. as a result, i too want to blog. not just poetry and youtube links, but proper blog entries like this one. okay, maybe a bit more interesting than this post, but similar pattern of introduction, interesting point, and end. maybe even a few links or pictures now and again.

unfortunately, i haven't much interesting to say. i could write on any manner of topics, but nothing is quiet as relevant as the writing i am not doing (namely, thesis). oh look, a topic! my thesis.

i hate talking about my thesis though, so this will never work!

before i settle into said thesis this afternoon, ryan is coming home for lunch (and liz is coming over too as a matter of fact). then i am off to check my schedule at the pizza joint and visit my bank. after that, it's home and focusing on thesis work for a few hours before suiting up and heading back to the pizza joint for a few solid hours of work.

i don't know how many people would be interested in a regular blogging experience here, or how many people will be put off the idea (as they're more interested in my poetry - i promise to continue to write poetry though, and perhaps even put a poem at the end of every regular post). but... i think i may give this a try either way. i think i need it right now.

*****

the giant's foot laced up with trees
stomps through towns in the country
where little people plant crops
for the coast and sake of modern art

dear mr steven moffat,

i believe bjork should play a doctor who alien.



now, this happens to be one of my all time favorite bjork tunes, but the video exemplifies her oddities. a dress made of little bells. only in Iceland.

the inertia

for Nicole Beaudoin

he watches carefully
as the breath of the subway
plays with her hair

forward flow at the stops
and back at the go
like an indecisive wind

light and small and purple
there's a greek goddess on the boston T
and he catches her eye, finally

the look that triggers his imagination
to wonder what greek goddesses
do after dinner parties...

i have a like

this morning, from le vie en bleu