Monday, December 26, 2011

Sunday, November 20, 2011

I Would Call The Disorder "Villainous Villus".

I think it is truly worth ruminating on why certain memories will always remain fresh.
Why is it that I remember it like it was yesterday, when at 9, being a girl who had been introduced to the woes of love and poetry at an early age was told by my 4th grade teacher's assistant, "If you don't stand up and talk, you'll never find a love like that" ?

I even recall vividly which poem of mine she was referring to. It was about my dog, but she didn't know that.

My personal medical philosophy is that emotion is ingested, stored, and sieved through the bowels.
Therefore my medical problem, IF I have one, must be that my bowels encase misery mongers, holding on to what they ought not to, as though it were a savory nut. And they keep it there for a while until they know they've made me sick. That is why my bowels shut down when there is too much grief ingested. And that's why then I can't breathe deeply, as the mounting piles of bad "nuts" are cluster fucking the walls of my intestines, and crowding my lungs.

I ought to be a doctor.

I ought to let go of stress. This week needs to dissipate into the past and even though we'll get through it "easy peasy japanesey"(as my 4 year old goddaughter would say), thinking about it holds a lot of weight over one so small. There is a lot of love going around but even at my young age, it's difficult to pretend things will be easier than they seem, even when you know it's true.

Sometimes I want to take my brain out and pet it.

Friday, September 16, 2011

I Must Have Always Known

I'm not afraid; my calamitous streak seems to have drawn to a close. All of those frustrations: the attack on Union St, and bicycle mishap, getting robbed, they weren't so unbearable. In retrospect, it wasn't the actual crisis that was so troubling, as much as the notion that I was being punished.
Something I've been thinking about a lot in the past few days. I'm sort of through feeling bad about what the last couple of years have held for me.
I think it's true, that consensual relationships are relative, and defined by the involved parties' terms. People will do, and put up with, in degrees that aren't measured by a tangible set of standards.
I've made myself lousy with guilt over things that weren't my fault, and I don't feel like I deserved to be put in the position that I'm in anymore.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

But I Made Lemon Cupcakes with Fresh Raspberry Frosting

I don't know. I've usually very little to say in public because I'm dwelling on some saturated notion, or I'm thinking about what I'd like to do, or what I would say if I didn't feel stupid for saying it. But right now, I'm not thinking any of those things in public. I'm really desperately outside myself.
Lately, I've felt hard; I don't need anything. In actuality, I feel a gape, and an abstracted, frustrated desire to love people. Man, I want to love people, but forgive me when I say that I find people generally hard to love. I know, but please take into account my core, which is unfailing insecurity. It takes the wind from the sails of my god-given graciousness. And I do love people anyways. In this, I am confident.
But sometimes I wonder if I'm nothing other than a sounding post. In my lower moments I believe that's my purpose and what I'm here to offer. No other suppositions surface. I feel plainly servicable, but practically valueless. I hope it will pass. I hope I will become charming and talented soon.
But I level with the idea that maybe I've just been stupid all along. I don't want to believe this, but...
Whatever the case, this is my current adult mental status. Not only have I not improved, but I've actually deteriorated into what sometimes feels like a shake of senility and permanent drowsiness. I don't quite know what to do.
And, maybe I shouldn't feel so bad, comparing myself to others who love readily. Maybe it is just a matter of semantics- the way we drop the word love. Or just how far we are willing to go to make acquaintances feel loved, even if love isn't what we actually have for them. I'm sure i've done it before; attemps to save face frolicking as common good-will towards men. I feel like a bad person, with no interesting qualifiers to make me worth it.

Here are some cupcakes to liven up the morning!





Lemon Cupcakes:
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 t. baking soda
1/2 t. baking powder
1/4 t. salt
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 cup soy or almond milk
3/4 cup white granulated sugar
1/4 cup and 1 T. lemon juice
Lemon zest from 1 lemon

Preheat the oven to 350 F. Line a 12-cup muffin tin with cupcake liners and set aside.
In a medium-sized mixing bowl, sift together the flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt. Set aside. In another large mixing bowl, whisk together the olive oil, soy milk (or almond milk, if using), sugar, lemon juice and lemon zest. Add the dry ingredients to the wet, mixing until just combined.
Fill each cupcake liner about 3/4 full and bake until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cupcakes emerges clean, about 18-20 minutes. Allow cupcakes to cool completely before frosting with the following raspberry frosting:

Raspberry Frosting:
2 cups powdered sugar
1 pinch of salt
1/4 cup fresh raspberries, crushed
2 teaspoons lemon juice

In a large bowl, stir together the powdered sugar, salt and crushed raspberries.
Add lemon juice until spreading consistency is reached.

Love always,

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

The Only Truth I Know Is Personification

I once had a very vivid dream where I took in heroin through my jaw. I didn't appreciate the scars it gave me, but the menacing look from my mother was permanently worse.
Yesterday when I closed my eyes for a short nap, I saw bits of this dream with an added piece: a small unfamiliar child peeling the skin off of a kiwi segment. Later in the day, I took little Addi to the Ends of the Earth exhibit, followed by a trip to the zoo, where she knocked me out of energy, and I her. The remembrance of the dream was forgiven.


Addi, getting hyped for the day.



What a beautiful kid. I want her to write more but I feel that perhaps with the surrounding environment of t.v. and other kids who hate school (and loathe the idea of doing any sort of "work" outside of school), she might just giggle, say "No!" and run off.
She says so many things that could be written, and saved for her later years. So she can remember her core being, and learn to love the person she is, and is becoming.

When I'm thinking a thought that I deem worthy of recording, I usually don't act on it because I fall out of the state in which the thought occurred, and which I want it written, by the physical act of writing.
In a similar vein, but off this specific topic, on the occasion that I find myself alone and in a pleasant state of mind, I don't want any distractions in my frame at all, not even my own movement, because I am desperate to stay in it. Today this happened when I was sitting out on the stairs, absorbed in the idea of "quietly hopeful", when a woman complimented me on my skirt.

I've been really aware lately, to the point of removed happiness. I'll often think something similar to "Alright, I'm happy right now." during the course of my moment. And with an almost pained consciousness of my happiness, comes a looming awareness that I'm going to come out of it soon.


Dylan and her best friend, Brooklyn.



I take solace in the time I spend with good-hearted folk. My goddaughter is my life and I am counting down the days of her return. Addi is amazing and growing faster in my eyes because I seldom have days with her. Love is still lost on me, but I find comfort in good conversation and great company.

I just wish I wasn't always bracing myself.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

It's August. I Should Be Preparing For Fall.


As children, Emily Wenner had the most amazing Christmas tree in her bedroom: it was white, tin, from the WWII era. This, her harpsichord, and her canopy bed, were the only reasons we were friends, because she was hellaciously snobby. Anyhow, I found a similar tree, in tragic fragments, at the Salvation Army this weekend. I've mentally lusted after this thing since I was 11, and I was so close to affordably obtaining it, that I can't really think on it without feeling wrenched. Kind of like when I was supposed to grow old with my cocker spaniel puppy, but one day after coming home from school - excited to play - he attacked me and by my parents' quick decision, was sent to be put to sleep. And even at the young naive age of 6, I knew what that meant.

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Vanilla Shortbread Cookies

Wearing a watch has a few benefits, and 1 of them is aural. To hear the watch ticking next to my ear is to imagine the tiny clockworks inside, doing their quaint businesses. But it's also imitative of a steady heart beat, and we are supposed to like that.

I don't think I've mentioned this, in the 10/11 years that I have been "blogging," but my favorite word in the history of words is: pulse. I was first asked this when I was in middle school, and it came to me very quickly for three reasons:

[puhls]
1. definition: a single pulsation, or beat or throb, of the arteries or heart
2. definition: bustle, vitality or excitement: the pulse of a city.
3. romance: Just saying it aloud is romantic. It's like making out with a word. Try it.

One Christmas around age 11, I thought I was going to get a puppy for Christmas. I craved this responsibility in theory, and made sweet juvenile preparations for its arrival. A small scale stocking was crafted from felt, pennies were used to purchase rawhide at the local pet store. Name lists were penned - both male and female; but the real cream was a little dog bed, foam lined, flannel blanketed, cardboard boxed - with a small round clock duct-taped to the outside, facing in. A lulling method, the ticking of the clock, dulled by a layer of cardboard, was supposed to trick them back to their mother's bosom. Anyhow, the anecdote goes on to say that I didn't get a puppy. Instead I got a damaged dog with a lot of hang-ups and annoying energy - who was far too giant for my little bed; but occasionally, I would hold the clock to his ear - "be soothed!". This only seemed to excite him. He ended up having to be put down due to a virus that was eating his organs and slowly killing him.

I lost my watch 5 years ago and wonder if I would be sleeping right now instead of making cookies if I hadn't misplaced it. I need a dose of the ticking.


1 cup cold butter (or vegan butter)
2/3 cup confectioner's sugar
1/3 cup granulated sugar
2 1/2 cups flour
2 teaspoons vanilla
1/2 teaspoon salt

Mix the flour, sugars and salt together. add the butter in chunks and "chop" with a wooden spoon or spatula until butter smooths out. Add vanilla and keep mixing until a soft dough forms and roll out half of the dough (at a time, unless you have an unusually large work area) on a floured surface. You can either use cookie cutters or the edge of a cup to make perfect circles. Really, you can use whatever shape you'd like your cookies to come out as. Either way, they'll taste delicious!


Wednesday, July 27, 2011

"Cheese" Crackers

I have been plagued with the Change Creeps for about a week, maybe longer. A sudden wave of weak nausea, a feeling that I can only compare to being freshly insulted.

These mysterious Creeps, which I have only recently connected with divergence in my little life's shuffle (currently, being my new job), have been with me as long as I can remember.

Expressing the Creeps to my grandfather as a young girl, was met with the explanation that this was obviously the Holy Ghost telling me that something was wrong, bad and to turn the other way.

I've since decided to believe that these Creeps are my intuition, a mounting amalgamation of the subconscious cues I've collected over a course of time. Still, does that mean these Creeps may indicate something wrong, bad and to turn the other way?

Taking into account, myself, the answer I suppose is: no. I can't say I'm comfortable believing my subconscious is more acute than waking reason, though I'm not perfectly comfortable discounting that either.

For example, when I wanted to stop walking yesterday, but had to continue - I just imagined somebody from behind holding my hips firmly with straight hands, slightly pushing, slightly swaying them.

It is both fortifying and dubiously self-realizing to believe that there is something inside that leads you.

Anyway, today was ridiculously relaxing and fulfilling. I baked cupcakes, I swam with two loves of my life, we watched Angus (which has the most reminiscent soundtrack ever), and when my brother came by for some good company, I made crackers.



I couldn't find any other "tiny" cookie cutter so the Snowman had to do. It goes along with the Winter holiday theme that still rests on our walls and ceiling.


"Cheese" Crackers
1 1/4 cup flour
1/3 cup nutritional yeast
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
pinch cayenne pepper
3/4 teaspoon sea salt
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
4 tablespoons water, plus 1-2 tablespoon more only if needed


Preheat oven to 350 degrees.


Combine the flour, nutritional yeast, garlic powder and sea salt in a medium sized bowl. Add the olive oil and the 4 tbsp of lukewarm water and mix well. Once mixed, if there is flour remaining in the bottom add another tbsp and mix well again. Remove the dough from the bowl and knead a couple times. Then cut the dough in half.


Flour the dough and your surface well and roll out to 1/8″ thick and cut into whatever shapes you like or just trim the edges and cut into squares. Move to parchment lined baking sheet and before placing the sheet in the oven, sprinkle the cayenne pepper over the doughy cut-outs. Bake crackers for 18-20 minutes. Once finished, remove from the oven and cool on the sheet until completely cooled before storing in an airtight container.


They really taste like goldfish crackers. I recommend using whole wheat flour. I know I will next time.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Root Beer Float Cupcakes

Repeatedly dragging a sweater across my face this afternoon. I realized that there is nothing as absorbing to me as certain physical sensations of my own supply. And that I am almost constantly catering to this aspect of my Id.

Sounds harmless, but tonight i wonder if it might very well be barring me from further exploring the "art of conversation" - as a part of my attention is allegiant to something that I am experiencing alone, and is not only personally distracting, but pointless to discuss.

I plan on experiencing with intentional elimination of this behavior in public. Maybe, suddenly, I will have smart things to say.

What this post should have been about, actually, is Root Beer Float Cupcakes. I did it again - but with such perfection that it deserved its own post.




Root Beer Float Cupcakes
1 cup Root Beer soda ( I used Dad's Old Fashioned)
1 teaspoon vinegar
3/4 cup sugar
1/3 cup vegetable oil
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 teaspoon root beer extract
1 1/3 cup flour
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
pinch of salt

Combine soda and vinegar, and set aside for at least two minutes.
Add the sugar and oil, whisking vigorously.
Add extracts and mix well.
Be sure to sift the dry ingredients before GENTLY introducing to the soda/vinegar mixture.

Fill cupcake liners about 3/4 full and bake at 350 for about 20-21 minutes.

Vanilla Ice Cream Frosting
1/2 cup butter
3/4 cup vanilla ice cream
1 teaspoon vanilla
4 cups powdered sugar

Beat the butter, ice cream and vanilla. Gradually add powdered sugar.

I didn't have the tools for this, but cutting up red and white striped straws to top the cupcakes would probably be very cute. Just sayin'.

Monday, July 18, 2011

I've Always Felt Like He Is My Charge


This weekend was filled with a crisis of sleepless nights, overly active walks and hang outs, and an anxious, nail-biting impatience to see my brother, Ale. All of this, though mostly the lack of sleep contributed, has caused a bit of insanity within the chemicals in my brain.

In other words:
I had a real hallucination yesterday morning: A rabbit in the bathroom; it stayed right where I stared at it.

This happened in a partial dream:
I drooped toward my knees and let my hair sweep the floor while I sang the ABCs in one breath.

Last night:
A 7 year-old asked me, "What's a word?" (among other questions with challenging/fun answers).

I ran into a wall during my 9pm-5am shift that would have left me with broken glasses, had they not already been punched in the face by a wall. I suppose if it hasn't happened already, expect it around every corner. Let the record state: I've decided that I don't like walls. And this is OK. I suggest, in alternative, a series of corners and crannies.

I wished so hard every day that my brother would just come home. I have a well of vigilance towards him that leaves no room for me to worry about myself. Still, I am glad that he is home.

Friday, July 8, 2011

I Make Your Mouth Water.

I know that perhaps I should not have refrained from posting entries about my recent adventures in the kitchen simply because I haven't particularly been satisfied with the photos.

So... here they are, minus the recipes.

Rosewater Cupcakes with Strawberry icing:


Root Beer Float Cupcakes with Vanilla Ice Cream Icing:






Green Tea Cupcakes with Cream Cheese frosting:



Blueberry Rosewater Pie:

Wild Mushroom Pot Pie:


I Can't Trust Myself When I Sleep



Earlier today, during my evening nap, I encountered the (or a) devil in a slow, involved dream. He was a young man who lived in my basement and wore shades all the time. He was apparently lovelorn for my sister, of which I do not have and whom did not appear in the dream, but additionally, it was implied at least once that he wanted to rape me.

He paced a lot, and I was made aware of this by my bedroom floor, which would creak and bulge in alignment with his path. The floors would periodically scald my feet.

I was terrified of him, but I also felt awestruck and thought his power, in whatever form, could help me. I got courageous and plied him with a rhyme: "of all the things I could be, why me?"
From my end, there was much weight felt in this guiled query, but he didn't seem to notice and ignored me in this particular interaction.

Monday, July 4, 2011

What Is With This Abundance of Dreams?


Teeth falling out or rotting is a classic dream scenario, but what if your dream teeth are just switched up - molars for incisors and canines, canines for molars? I tried to eat a pizza slice. It was monstrous.

My mind's been full of phrase jibberish lately that I'm mildly entertained by, but which has no practical applications.

I've regained the ability to imagine vivid, ideal scenarios, and as a result am feeling generally dissatisfied.

And when I close my eyes today I see myself as a fiend making large, taunting movements with my arms.

I have excess energy, and my preferred outlets are: opening my eyes VERY WIDE, articulating with rapid precision, hand stretches to prevent carpal tunnel syndrome, or even combinations of all.

Saturday, July 2, 2011

Note: Don't Read Zombie Comics Before Bed.


Yesterday, during several naps - adjacent, I dreamt extensively about being night hunted in waist deep snow. Frozen, digging, limping, crawling. I was petrified, but acutely aware that my pursuer and I looked exceedingly beautiful in that snow. It reminded me of my future in Oregon, though I was still stutteringly frightened.

I like to visualize my brain coated with the dense moss of Pacific Northwest verdure as the recent barrier between myself and satisfying thought collection. I'll just let it sit for a while, I guess.


(Me, paying my respects to Gravity in Oregon, January 2008)

(Dickie in Oregon, January 2008)


(Me in Oregon, January 2008)

(Me & Dickie in Canada, Apri 2008)


(Really, folks. You can't fake this kind of raw, honest beauty.)


(Dickie, Me, Richard and Kara in Canada, April 2008)

(Me and Kara in Canada, April 2008)

(Dickie, Richard and Stephen in Canada, April 2008)

(Stephen, Dickie and me in Seattle, April 2008)

I feel better, in some ways very much, and hope this disconnect will pass. Things are moving forward. Whatever happens in the future is okay with me because I am confident. I yearn for more green, more outside, more love, more of everything. Let's fall into place. Okay?

Thursday, June 30, 2011

"Can We Play A Game?" She Said.

Lately I have developed a tendency to internally dialogue or narrate in the third person.

"If I seem somber, it's because I was listening very closely."
Edit: "She said."

"Nestled in her hair, she finger-painted the remaining tears in semi-circles under the eye. Lulled, she thought, "This is what a whale's skin feels like." As it happened.

I think it's partially an attempt to disassociate myself from thoughts that seem excessively mopey, or at least try to make an exercise out of them. I wonder if everybody repeats their own thoughts as much as I do.

My brain's been a little odd lately.

Last night I was relentlessly aware of it as a mass, existing in my skull. I had some involuntary image projections of a gauzy, mushy mass - grey, like brains are supposed to be. Descriptors "gauzy" and "mushy" I fixated on, but I couldn't actually think of anything that exists as both gauzy and mushy... perhaps some kind of octopus?
By thinking a lot about my brain as a "thing," I also felt very in control of it. I was able to procure a really old memory, just by urging myself to "remember something new." I was also able to keep myself from crying.


I don't have too many formed feelings on the true meaning of love; the last few years have been choppy and unforgettable - both good and bad - but if I've ever felt close to having a moment in it, it was this week when I saw a common pain reliever in the bathroom cabinet, and reflexively with an ache, wished they had no pain to relieve.

There is also that night at the swings when I needed to be saved and without a doubt, I was.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Life, Please Don't Beat The Romance Out Of Me

It's been very sad, in my heart and head. And I'm feeling more than upset, possibly comparable to existing only in the imagination of a really dull child.
I've come to crave leverage (respect?), but am beginning to feel that it's not something given naturally to me by my design. By that I mean, what I offer in the day to day seems to be a thing intangible and of little transferrable value - a trifle. And so I mean, is it just me or am I usually being talked down to, through, or past?

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Flowers Took My Headache Away, Baby

At the end of the dream, I was a performer in a circus ring. It was entirely dark except for a light that shone on myself and a woman dancing with a flag in the center of the ring. My act: swinging recklessly on a swing the height of a three story building. My eyes always closed, swinging wildly, haphazardly; never knowing if I might crash violently into the metal frame on my descent, or into the flag dancer on ascent. This was the appeal of my act; it was no feat to just swing, but one of us could be bludgeoned at any moment. I sang the entire time, a very loud singing to ensure projection. It's very hard to sing while you are swinging. The noise is here, then there.
I woke up with a throbbing headache, the same kind I get when I am impotently echoing dream-sob.
.

Monday, June 6, 2011

My Abuse is Ingenious

It's strangely exciting the way the body, I only speak from the experience of my body, reacts to a terrible revelation. It could be read, told, intuited, and the sensation is still the same; a menthol bath to the brain, hot cheeks, numb mouth, stomach plunge to the uterus, tingly limbs.
To myself I am a most depraved enemy.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Sometimes I Don't Think I Know The Difference

On one page, I gather those qualities that stir me shameful with love and loyalty. On the other, I lay down those that disgust me, and conclude with:

Hate is really more inspiring, isn't it?

Today should be spent in vengeance. I will apply my pool chalk war paint: strips atop my cheeks. perhaps a vertical strip on my forehead.

It sounds like honest fun. It sounds like I need this. I'm crying inside.