stong glare

She hadn’t ever thought of growing up until she ran to the bathroom during class one day. A warm sensation had overwhelmed her and she felt out of control. As she shuffled toward the unisex bathroom next to the nurse’s office she thought she was going to pass out. She had looked behind herself to see if anyone was following her. She had always had a fear of blood.

this is special.

Mountain Man "Mouthwings" [part 1 of 3] from Yours Truly on Vimeo.

Mountain Man "Honeybee" for Yours Truly [part 2 of 3] from Yours Truly on Vimeo.

Mountain Man "Babylon" [part 3 of 3] from Yours Truly on Vimeo.

these girls are pretty pretty great

we drove down to salem to see them earlier this week

if you ever get a chance

go

bedframes/dining rooms

i just about broke my ankle the other night

i decided in my drippy state of mind that kicking the random cat in my yard was a brilliant concept

the wet slippery partially decomposed leaves were not the best surface for my quick movements

i missed that cat

but scared it enough that it scurried away quickly

i limped like an old man up the stairs and into the house

discarded my wet shoes at the door

my ankle was throbbing not only from twisting it violently

but also crashing into the cement step

tired and irritated i climbed into bed to sleep it off

silence was not a good compliment to the heartbeat in my lower leg

so i got up and took a vicodin

flossed my teeth

and passed out on top of my covers

fall vacation scooters

he was attracted to her in a way that was similar

to the way that a young son is attracted to his mother

he sat at his desk

with his legs crossed

contemplating the mistakes he had made

that caused seemingly every relationship

he ever sought

to fizzle

did he try too hard

or was it just something that occurred naturally

when he had first met her

he thought she was average looking

at best

he first gained the confidence

to ask her out

after a night of drinking

and analyzing his loneliness

their first

and last dates

were similar in that he bled at some point during each

during the first date he received a paper cut while paying the bill

during the last date she stabbed him in the shoulder with a nail file

even after getting out of prison

he still thought about her

as if she were still breathing

slice the prizm

blatant stabs from my knife

release pops and frowns

i make my way down the stairwell

my consciousness teeters unpredictably

the sticky leather seat i sit in attempts

to comfort me inefficiently

the alley surrounded by stools

and squeaks marks an area of unrest

slumped over i look up

realizing the mirror across from me

is pulling me into its numbing void

my eyes roll back

and i fall in

like heaven but real

fingertips shrivel
and nails recede

like a raisin developing from a grape

i walk around in my cold
damp socks

thinking about trench foot

i wonder how many days i could wear these socks
before my toes become like my fingertips

welcome to the crazy horse west

my head spins

and i reach for the wall

something to grab onto

light refracts into blue halos

my vision crackles

i feel like i am

watching an old cassavetes film

my knees give out and i collapse

in the cold corner

but i don't

remember collapsing

just sinking

waking up feeling

like if i stop trying

i am going to throw up

i feel disconnected

nauseous

embarrassed

i sit and drink my warm water

and try to regain

some reference of stabilty

this may take a while

old rasputin waves his 'orthodox' fingers at me

lower back pains

i don’t know what happened to her between

the seventies and eighties

she used to be such an honest girl

the kind of girl who washed the dishes

the kind of girl who preferred plays to films

something changed

now she hits the dog

she wakes me in the middle of the night

to tell me something about me that she doesn’t like

last night she told me that she hates the way i blink

when i look at her

i remember before

when we were young

when weekends started with cocktails

instead of fights

now they end with cocktails

alone

fiery holiday bean chili

ingredients:

1 can peeled whole tomatoes

2 medium yellow onions

2 jalapeño peppers

1 anaheim pepper

1 green bell pepper

12 garlic cloves

1/2 lb (1 1/2 cans) soaked great northern beans (or kidney beans)

1 can soaked black beans

1 teaspoon sea salt

1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper

1 teaspoon ground cayenne pepper

1 teaspoon crushed red pepper

1 teaspoon cumin

1 teaspoon tabasco sauce

instructions:

cut the tomatoes into fourths and pour the can in entirety into a large saucepan. heat saucepan to medium/low heat. chop onions and add. chop garlic and add. cook for 10 minutes.

chop and remove seeds of green bell pepper and add. chop and add anaheim pepper and jalapeno peppers (with seeds). drain beans and add.

add in salt, black pepper, cayenne pepper, crushed red pepper, cumin, and tabasco sauce.

cook covered for 1 hour.

remove lid and cook for 30 minutes.

notes:

this chili is very spicy. the cornbread recipe that i posted previously goes really well with this chili recipe.

if you don't want an extremely spicy chili i suggest that you reduce the amount of hot peppers that you do not include tabasco sauce/use less cayenne pepper

the shadow on the ceiling looks like a crab

norman invited me over for dinner

it was raining so my socks got wet

he said he wanted to make me dinner

lord knows norman can't cook

norman made peanut butter and honey sandwiches

he thought he would be fancy and serve it on toast

he pierced the thickly sliced white bread with the poker

norman held the bread over the makeshift fire he had made in the fireplace

he offered me some brandy

lord knows peanut butter and honey tastes best with brandy

the sweet strong brandy stung my cracked lips as i sipped it

he tried to tell me stories about the stuffed birds on his wall

norman had named the birds after the characters from 'animal farm'

the burnt toast was a perfect housing for the viscous honey

as i bit into the sandwich the honey gushed out onto my chin

it dried in my beard and created a rough sticky surface that reminded me of grout

norman handed me a dishrag that had dried tomato sauce on it

i wiped my chin with the wet red rag until the grime was removed

norman took the dishrag from me and dimmed the lights

lord knows he was always planning something awful

good thing i had a few glasses of whiskey before i came over

dinner with norman always ends in blackouts

autumnal vegetable stuffed squash

ingredients:

2 small acorn squashes

1 red onion

1/2 yellow onion

1/2 shallot

6 cloves garlic

2 handfuls crimini mushrooms

2 small yellow zucchinis

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon curry powder

1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper

1/2 teaspoon paprika

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 egg whites

2 tablespoons cottage cheese

1 small 'tube' of chèvre

instructions:

preheat oven to 375°F and place rack in middle of oven

cut acorn squash in half lengthwise and remove seeds. on a baking sheet place squash flesh side up and rub orange flesh with olive oil. cover with tin foil and bake for 40 minutes or until orange flesh of squash begins to become tender.

heat a pan over medium heat and add olive oil. slice all vegetables. add onions/garlic/shallots. cook a few minutes. add zucchini/mushrooms. cook a few minutes.

add cinnamon/salt/curry powder/black pepper making sure the flavors are blending. the flavors from the vegetables alone are very vibrant.

in a large bowl combine the sautéed curried vegetables/egg whites/cottage cheese. mix well.

when squash has become tender remove from oven and scoop vegetable mixture into each halved squash until 3/4 of the way full. make sure that the squash is stable on the cooking sheet and will not fall over.

place back in hot oven and bake 30-50 minutes uncovered until the mixture has 'set'.

when the squash is near finishing spread some chèvre on the top of each and bake a few more minutes.

the gold ones might have almonds in them

tried to think of the last time i had a ‘good’ nightmare

the kind where you wake up somewhere else

not knowing what you are

the kind of dream that makes waking up in the morning hard

makes your bed feel like another planet

couldn’t remember when it was

maybe when i was young

when i woke up one night

convinced the bed was made of boulders

i clawed my way to the flat spot

curled back up

thinking i had found a ‘comfortable’ rock to sleep on

it was one of those dreams

spicy/jala/cornbread

ingredients:

3 tablespoons olive oil (you can use butter/walnut oil/etc...)

1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

1 cup whole wheat flour

3/4 cup corn meal

1/4 cup brown sugar

1 tablespoon baking powder

1 1/2 teaspoons sea salt

1 teaspoon ground cayenne pepper

1 jalapeño pepper

1 1/4 cups plain soy milk

instructions:

heat oven to 350°F

in pan (i use a square 9-inch pan) combine oil and crushed red pepper flakes and place in the hot oven while you prepare the rest of the ingredients

in a medium sized mixing bowl combine the dry ingredients and mix

add soy milk and mix

take pan out of oven and pour the mixture into the hot pan making sure to spread the mixture evenly to the edges of the pan

bake for 30-40 minutes depending upon your oven

large lawn gnomes

here comes the yellow sheet

it will cover what hangs mangled out the door onto the lawn

the glass on the street causes me to jump off my bike

i take the sidewalk and look around

the street becomes a blacktop jungle surrounded by drooping tape

so many people

so many lights

the lawn with the house with the car in it is the attraction

the police swarm up and down the street

run red lights

shell casings in the alley across the street

the sirens blast my eardrums

make me tentative to cross the intersection

the gunshots startled those around

i wonder what started it

i wonder if he woke up this morning thinking he was going to die

my knife has a scissors in it

i want to spit in your face

i want to spit hot peppermint tea in your face

i want the spit to drip down my chin into my beard

i want my face to smell like peppermint tea

i want your face to smell like i spit peppermint tea on it

recycling bins serve as cup holders

i want to feel something

something that ‘feels right’

warm

tight

the kind of feel that makes you think of ‘water wings’

feeling grabbed but stable

safe but uncomfortable

i think that is what i want

or at least i just want something

if that counts

i just want to have to shake my arm

because it has that tingly feeling

that ‘starry’ pop rock feeling

the one that doesn’t hurt

but you grimace

greasy black hands

i hate waking up with you in my head

makes me feel strange

makes me feel incomplete

makes me feel violated

my day starts off in a haze of confusion

a haze of investigation

i didn’t ask you to be there

i didn’t want you to be there

there are probably answers to why you were there

i don’t like any of those answers

i just want you to not be there tomorrow

makes my showers feel too wet

makes my cereal taste too soggy

tomorrow when I wake up confused

too early

not awake

let me peel my eyes open in silence

bruno rides the ski lift up

He wakes up surrounded by darkness. He craves something. Not sure what. He sips his bedside water that tastes of iron, or maybe it’s the blood. He spits it back out. Too dark to know where it lands.

Rolls over and reaches for his phone. 4:03, too early. Climbs off the floor and reaches for the door knob. Scuffles across the cool floor in the dark kitchen. Stubs toes consistently. Opens the fridge. Smells musty like the basement. Like a cat lives in there, or something. Eats an apple, core and all climbs back in bed. How many apple seeds would you have to eat to be affected by the cyanide concentration?

Why is his pillow so unsupportive of his head? His head isn’t that big. Isn’t that heavy. But that is the least of the complaints he has about his sleeping situation. The torn and burned carpet that acts as his mattress scratches him as he turns in the night. He wakes with sores.

Wonders why he tries to sleep at all. Sleeping makes him feel stressed, inadequate. Remembers hearing that sleep was nourishing, once. Could be doing more productive things with his time. But what? Why does it matter? What matters?

Feels guilty. Alone. Lucid. Wishes he had worried more when he was younger. Now worrying consumes his time. Possesses an unquenchable hunger. A hunger shared with those who lack food. Who lack love. Who lack everything but life. Possibly. Wonders if life can be quantitatively measured.

If the kitchen didn’t smell so bad he would maybe make something to eat. Cupboard has beans and rice. He digs for a bandanna to cover his nose and mouth. Still dark in his room. Too early. Knocks over his bedside water and kneels in it.

The bandanna provides a tentative barrier between the smell of stale life and his olfactory. Digs through what is contained by the cupboard and pulls out what is left of his bulk black beans. Of his long grain rice. Sings issac hayes in his head. Feels nostalgic. Not sure what about.

Unscrews the tight cap on his ground cayenne pepper. Drops the cap in the dark. Steps on the cap. Seasons the rice and beans. Uses an old bread bag and a rubber band to cover the ground cayenne pepper. Thinks this wont work.

Escapes the suffocating kitchen that is now not as musty. Retreats back to his floor. Sits cross-legged on the floor. The sun is coming up so he opens the blinds. Devours his food. Enjoys the combination of moist and firm and spicy. Coughs, realizing he had spilled his water already.

Walks to the bathroom to drink from the sink. Looks in the mirror. His bloodshot eyes stare at the bandanna around his neck. His nose bleeds again. Wipes it with soft, stained cut of cotton. Cough has ceased.

Slithers back to his room. Slides back to his position of the floor. Exhausted from eating/coughing/bleeding, he returns to restlessness.

bigbearhugs

Dan Deacon - Paddling Ghost from Natalie van den Dungen on Vimeo.

dan deacon gives good hugs

hakeem the dream

i like when you act recklessly

helps me not think so much

i remember being young and not having to plan

the important things were simple

dancing in costume

dunking on small hoops

recklessness was not as severe but equally as stimulating

(clip(clop

warm yet brisk morning rides

wrapped in red scarves

covered in waterproof blue

carrying nutritious meals and dry shoes

splashed with puddles

sprayed with decomposing leaves

'oh bless their hearts'

it's like waking up in the middle of the night cold like camping without a sleeping bag

it's like knocking your knee into the edge of the table every time you come near it

it's like checking the mail and realizing no one sent you anything, again

it's like missing the bus when another one doesn't come for an hour

it's like burning the garlic bread because you put 'broil' on

it's like paper cuts in the webbing between your fingers

it's like slipping/falling in the shower

it's like losing your birth certificate

it's like biting into a popsicle stick

it's like a bad orgasm

it's like a bad hug

it's like a flat tire

it's like that

mmmm

if you like this

check out the artist's website

http://allisonschulnik.com/

pgs n blnkt

woke up this morning

thought about how much warmer it is to have a blanket

homeless people are tough

if i was homeless i would take a lot of the steps i am taking right now

(low income bus pass)

(food stamps)

(eat cans of beans)

having an ipod makes me feel bourgeoisie

tomorrow it is probably going to rain

will the homeless be dry?

april wheeler /vs/ the egg

sometimes i plan to much

she portrays the terminator in a cold, efficient, panicked fashion

planning can be like this

i think sometimes its called foreshadowing

the way she beat that egg made me think

tomatillo salsa.salsa verde.spicy.

ingredients:

10-12 tomatillos (variety of green and yellow firm tomatillos)

6-8 whole cloves of garlic

1-6 peppers* (jalapenos, habaneros, serranos, bananna wax, chiles, etc)

1/2 onion (white/yellow/red)

handful of fresh cilantro

generous amount of cumin

generous amount of ground cayenne pepper

generous amount of black pepper

1/4 cup lime juice

1 tablespoon oil (olive, canola, etc...)

instructions:

heat a frying pan at medium/low on stove top

add oil

to prepare tomatillos pull off papery husks, cut in half (right down the middle) and remove top of core

to prepare peppers cut off stems

to prepare garlic remove 'skin', keep whole

add prepared tomatillos, peppers, and garlic to warm pan

'pan roast' until tomatillos become soft and good smells occur

in a blender/food processer add onion, cilantro, cumin, black pepper, cayenne pepper, lime juice, and 'pan roasted' items

blend/process until even consistency is achieved

*notes:

make your choices for amount and types of peppers based upon your preference/what you have available

also the colors of the peppers will contribute to the aesthetics of the coloring of the salsa

let me know if you have any questions/concerns

/bloody/knuckle/scrapes/

bike shop mechanics aren't inherently trustworthy

captain hook has a bloated fat neck stained with ink

morning bike rides are refreshing

loose rear wheels are not

(strange)rs can be helpful

grease stains don't look flattering on a baby blue canvas

wounds to the knuckles of fingers erase intricate creases

makesmewet

walked to work today after looking at the weather radar

high probability of getting wet

wet is what i became

my raincoat kept my ipod dry

fleetwood mac 'rumours' kept me

the little beads of rain on my jacket were enjoyable

wet corduroy was not

moved to the "west"

/so i moved out "west"/

it has been a collection of adventures and life changes

i miss people

i meet people

for the most part i like people

but baseheads give me the willies

applied for food 'stamps'

bought an old road bike

tomatillos in the backyard=salsa verde

/explor(ing)/