Bad Poetry -- Oh Noetry

Just when I finally think it's over, it's not.
Feigning sleep on a couch to instead deposit myself in your bed hoping...

For what?

A reenactment of nearly a year ago?

Gently moving your things and getting undressed.

I'm high on weed and anticipation.

The same catchy pop song about a bad love is on repeat between my ears.

Where are you?

The wait makes me sleep.

I wake up just before the alarm clock,

in this case you saying,

"goddamn!"

loudly and then calling me presumably to let you in.

My heart races and I fake my sleep.

I pray to every god I know that you'll come to bed and not

notice my heart beating so hard that it shakes my entire body.

You slip into your bathroom and then you're gone again.

The television turns on and I smell coffee or bagels

or perhaps a combination of the two.

I cave and you say you're going to work.

I pretend not to care, to sleep, to anything.

Three infomercials later, you come in your room.

The early dawn light barely shows me your lips as you say

goodbye and enjoy the bed.

My voice crackles a nonresponse.

At any rate, it wasn't what I wanted to say.

How does one phrase it?

"Skip work and we'll finish what we started 11 months ago."

"Call in sick and I'll blow your brains out."

"Say you had car trouble and I promise I'll make it worth your while."

Instead I thank you and mumble.

My heart calms down.

It's only on my drive home that I realize it's not over yet.

Not nearly so.

Goddamn.

Sweater Weather Recipe

I am currently sitting with a cup of hot tea, next to my space heater, and wearing two shirts and long trousers. It's cold out.

There are lots of things I enjoy doing when it's cold out: smoking, sleeping, walking on campus, wearing sweaters/scarves/knit tights/etc, and making good, cold weather food.

A few months ago, a friend of a family member had a death in their family and, as is proper behavior, I was asked to make some food to bring the family because they were largely vegetarians and I am one, too. I decided to make some soup using what I had around. It turned out fabulously and is now one of my favorite things to have when it's cold or rainy (or, if I'm lucky, both!). It's easy to make but it also makes a mess. It's also really customizable (don't like something? Substitute something else!).

Best Vegetarian Soup:

You'll need:

1/2 cup (or more depending on how much you like beans, I sometimes use a whole cup) mixed beans. You can buy a pretty big bag for cheap at Wal-Mart with, like, 15 varieties
3-5 Potatoes (I like to use more beans, less potatoes but this also depends on the size of the potatoes)
1 large-ish onion
2 carrots (or more, I like more)
2 celery stalks
2 cups of vegetable stock (or, if you aren't vegetarian, chicken broth should be fine, too. I, obviously, haven't tried it)
Vegetable Oil
Salt & Pepper

1. Cover the beans with water in a pot. Bring the pot to a boil and cook the beans for about 10 minutes. After that, put the whole thing on a back burner on medium to low heat and let them simmer whilst you're doing everything else.

2. Peel the potatoes and cut them up into about bite-sized pieces. Put them into another pot and boil them until they're soft with a little bit of salt. Should take around 10 minutes unless you have a lot of potatoes. When they're done, drain them and set them somewhere to the side.

3. Peel your carrots and then slice them up into bite-sized bits. Ditto the celery. Next, peel and chop up your entire onion. Pour some vegetable oil in a skillet (I like to use my wok) and let it heat for a minute or two before adding your onion. Cook the onion until it becomes transparent and then add the carrots and celery. Cook that for about 7 minutes and then add the vegetable stock. Cook this mixture for about another ten minutes.

4. Check your beans. Are they soft or at least soft-ish? If yes, go ahead and add the beans (bean-water and all) to the vegetable stuff. Then add the potatoes. Put it all in something oven-safe and add salt and pepper. Then put the whole thing in the oven and cook it at 400° for about 30 minutes or until it bubbles. Take it out very carefully and serve.

I think it goes well with some fresh bread (the crustier, the better) or multi-grain Club Crackers. It also stores really well in the fridge or freezer.

Recipe for Midterms

You all know that I want to be a baker, right?

It is mid-term time and I am constantly asking myself why I'm wasting my time, my life in academia when I could be studying the culinary arts. Each paper, exam, you-name-it and I'm thinking, "Wouldn't it be great if I were learning how to make pain au chocolat?" Or something similar.

Today I had to do my Polish Society & Culture midterm. I'm sure it's utter shit as in one of the essays I started comparing Germans to ducks. Whatever, it's done.

Anyway, I don't do well with stress. I break out, my back starts to hurt, I drink way too much coffee and chain-smoke. I don't like deadlines and I don't like word counts and I just, in general, don't like having to think about stuff about which I just really don't give a damn. What do I do to relieve stress?

I create.

Depending on how bad the stress is depends on what I create. Day-to-day stress creates poetry and painting and weird songs. Heavy exams, family issues, money problems creates food. The more complicated, the better. I can have the worst week and then make a truly marvelous soup or bake some fuckin' awesome muffins and then I feel so much better.

Today I created White Chocolate Pomegranate Mousse and, oh, my motherfucking lord, it's splendid. I'm going to post the recipe because I think maybe some of you would like it?

White Chocolate Pomegranate Mousse

You'll need (for four servings):

1 cup of heavy whipping cream (hint: Publix carries many sizes. The smallest is one cup)
1 tablespoon of granulated sugar
4 ounces of white chocolate (I used just one bar of the Ghirardelli)
2 egg whites
1 pomegranate, seeded*

1. Melt the chocolate. You can do this in a pan but I chose to do it in the microwave. If you do it my way, break the chocolate into pieces and put them in something microwave safe. Next heat them on half-power for about a minute and half. Take it out and stir it. If it's not quite done, put it in for another 30 seconds (again, on half power!). Set it aside to cool.

2. Pour your whipping cream into a mixing bowl. If you have a kitchen-aid, I suggest breaking out the wire whisk. I, however, just used a hand-mixer (and a broken one, at that!). Whip the cream at a very high speed. After a few minutes it'll start to get thicker (you'll know this because as you're whipping, the mixer will start to make shapes in the cream but feel free to stop it at times to see). Keep mixing until it gets to be like the whip cream that comes in a can, not coolwhip. Add the sugar and mix for a little more. It should be thick enough to stick to the mixer, if not, keep mixing. Stick it in the fridge.

3. Beat the egg whites with a teensy pinch of salt until it forms peaks. This takes a while and if you're doing it by hand, you're going to get tired. Just sayin'.

4. Fold the egg whites into the whipped cream and then do the same with the chocolate. When it's all together, you can start putting it in whatever you're serving it out of. I chose some wine glasses. I also opted to put a few pomegranate seeds at the bottom just because the glasses were, well, glass and it looked pretty. Put some of the mousse on top and then throw a few more pomegranate seeds on top. Voila! Stick the glasses in the fridge for about a half an hour to firm up the mousse and then serve.

*How to seed a pomegranate:

I don't know if there's a correct way so I can only tell you how I did it. It's kind of messy and time-consuming but hey, if you don't like it, make the recipe with something cleaner / easier that goes well with chocolate (Bananas? Strawberries? etc?).

Cut the crown off of the pomegranate. The seeds are in kind of pod-like things so peel the skin around them. You can pluck the seeds out or kind of brush them out, if you're good. Some will pop and the juice does stain so wear an apron or be really careful. Do this until you've peeled all of the skin and freed all of the little red seeds.

Two recent paintings.

Do not be afraid.
You cannot be afraid.
Your arms are wrapped around.
Do not be afraid.
There's nothing to do.
And the claps your hands resound.
Do not be afraid.
Do you feel really afraid?
Your feet they map the ground.
Do not be afraid.
It's not being afraid.
You'll have night visions.
Do not be afraid of not being afraid.
Your window when it's jostled.
Do not be afraid.
Do not be afraid.
We'll spend time.
Do not be afraid.
To go.
Around friends.
Over and over.
Do not be afraid.
We'll spend time in the mountains.


The biblical story of Jezebel is only a few sentences long. It seems that she and her husband, King Ahab, were accused of practicing idolatry by a young right-winger named Jehu, who had designs on the throne. Earlier, Ahab had acquired by devious means some real estate belonging to a neighbor, and Jezebel was said to have sparked a rumor that led to the neighbor's death. Ahab, a Hebrew, was king of northern Israel; Jezebel was the daughter of a king and queen of Phoenicia. Being a foreigner, she didn't wholeheartedly worship the god of the Jews, which may have led to the "idolatry" charges, but aside from loyally supporting her husband in his suspect land deal, she apparently had been as properly behaved as, say, Queen Elizabeth.
Then, there was a curious and fatal episode. The ambitious Jehu, having secretly murdered Jezebel's son (Ahab, in the meantime, had died in battle), came riding up to the palace. When Jezebel heard of his unscheduled visit, she, according to Scripture, "painted her face and tired her head and looked out a window." Another translation had her painting her "eyes" and "arranging her hair." In any case, there she was, freshly groomed, looking out at the Hebrew rebel, when he incited "two of three eunuchs" to "throw her down." "Her blood spattered on the wall," according to the gory old Bible, and Jehu left her in the courtyard for the dogs to eat while he went inside and helped himself to the wine. After a few flagons, he must have felt a prick of guilt because he ordered his flunkies to go bury her, but by that time the mutts had left nothing but "her skull, her feet, and the palms of her hands."

Paints & Poetry.

First time using water colors since I was a child.
Angry poetry and high doodling.
Lonely, happy memories and thoughts.
Paint your orgasm. Left side: orgasm from a partner right side: orgasm from myself.
Sad memory poetry.
Faryn-leaving poetry.
(also posted in text form at my other jrnl: http://seafeatures.livejournal.com/ )
Anti-poetry, drunk poetry.
Drunk painting.
One of my favorite poems, not mine.
High thoughts.

Creation as a form of distraction.

Other people in my journal.

I used to be really weird about exactly what went into my journal. Specifically who went into my journal. It really bothered me when other people would write anything in it (with the exception of the times I'd have Mel write me to-do-lists when I was driving or something). Then I realized the beauty of letting people into my journal, my life, my soul.

First is a venn diagram that Lyndsey and Amber assembled comparing Trash 'Staches and Molestaches one night when we were at Insomniacs Coffee House.

Next is something Alyssa, better known as 1/3 of Aaron's threesome, wrote. It's just my name and "Just Be!" Then Wes, better known as drunken-mistake in Jerry's bed, signed it as Walter for some reason. And then on the next page I wrote something Micah said. Maybe it doesn't count as Micah in my journal but I'm saying it does.

Next is a post-it Faryn left me in our bathroom. It's been pretty tear-inducing since she moved out today. I'll miss her so much.

Also Faryn-related is when she wrote out Modeh ani lefanecha for me when we were at the hostel. I later showed her the page after I added the "where is my mind?" bit which excited her and she showed me in her own journal where she'd written something similar. It reminds me of when Faryn said to a mosquito, "You're taking away my bad thoughts." just as I showed her the ribbon which is now in my hair that reads, "Think happy thoughts." I will miss Faryn so much.

Next is something Lyndsey drew for me when I asked that she do something related to, "The more you know." I later painted and then added the pencil and gum wrappers. The gum wrapper was from Faryn. The universe is conspiring to make me cry more about this. Ugh.

And then there's Andy. Oh, Andy. Lyndsey, Sam, Andy, and I went to whatever that one river is at night and found the creepiest little abandoned dock where we sat and smoked and composed poetry by accident. Andy doesn't usually smoke so he was really buzzed and wrote in my journal. First he wrote the limerick-sort thing which is completely true and I said it completely by accident. Then he started the poem on the next page which I finished later when I was in class.

Last is just some Hebrew Danielle wrote for me during the shabbat Ari visited. It's surrounded by all of my craziness.

The strangest thing about other people in my journal is how they get there. People to whom I am only slightly connected just take and write in it but I always have to ask people I love to write in it.

So, next time I see you, offer to write me a little something, will you?

This is a post about Aaron.

You have been warned.

It's hard to decide where to start on this one because Aaron goes way back in the journal but it's always the same cycle. I love him and then I hate him and then I try to work things out and then I love him again. I found a page from way back when before England where I had written about needing to sort things about with him hidden under some post-it notes. I am always trying to sort out our issues. Sigh.

Next is related to the day after we... were together or whatever. Anyway, all he said to me was "wow" in a text and then let me stew over it for weeks not knowing if it was a good wow or a bad one.
This led to a lot of introspection on my part where I wondered what I felt and what I thought and if I cared, etc, etc. Of course, I still had no idea what he was thinking.



The next one I wrote while he was having his threesome with Gabby Bishop and Alyssa. I was really hurt. Badly. Ugh. I still am.



I decided, like I always do after being there, to never come back. The next few pages celebrate that but at the same time I wrote down his contact information because, even though I deleted him from my phone, I knew it wouldn't last and I'd be back.


And then just as quickly, I realize that I love him again and go back to being crazy about him:


On this one I tried to draw how I feel for him on the bottom-ish right. Then I just wrote it.


Then, once again, I journaled whilst he was hooking up with someone that was not me. I was pretty goddamn drunk and even I can't read what I wrote. The gist of it was that it was okay because I know he loves me more than any of those whores. Oh, my drunk wisdom.


Then I got to thinkin' about how unhealthy our relationship is for me but still know that I can't give him up.


The next one I did while I was tripping which is why I was talking to trees and shit. Oh, man.

Lastly, I journaled while his band was playing at Uptown Bar and then again a little after I accidentally overheard him fucking Alyssa. Again. The second page will probably have more added to it but right now, it's pretty accurate for how I feel.


I don't know where I'm at right now with my feelings for him. I love him but it's really hard.

The Start is the Hardest Part.

I guess I consider myself to be a collector of journals. How could I not be? I still have journals I wrote when I was still learning to read (filled mostly with things like, "I learned how to spell Yugoslavia today. That's how it's spelled." and "Dad is really strict.") and I write in several journals to this day. I have my disease journal which hardly ever get updated and even when it is it's mostly, "Getting treatments every 6 weeks. Feel fine. No veins left. Mom still won't let me get a port. Blehhhh." Then there's my "art" journal which hasn't contained any art for several months. No photos, no poetry, no love. It's just there. Of course there's my main journal which is updated pretty frequently but censored to the point that sometimes I look back and wonder what the hell I was going on about. The past month of so of posts have been so extremely annoying to look back on, I almost want to delete them. Post after post of, "I hate my life." and then "Everything is so beautiful. I want to share it with you." It's restraining and uncomfortable. I've had that journal since I was 14 or 15 and sometimes I feel like it hasn't grown up with me and sometimes I feel like it's the only thing I've been able to keep.

Then there's this journal which will exist on it's own but also feature stuff from the physical journal I take everywhere. Jesse gave it to me for a Susanukkah present and I have used and abused the hell out of it. I was flipping and slipping through it this afternoon. The beginning is mostly poetry about the most mundane shit but I remember how I felt as I was writing it. There's photos as well as "tell so-and-so if I die..." stuff but I'm getting ahead of myself here.

I'm going to be selecting random things from my dearest journal, the physical representation of my soul over time, and posting it here. I find my biggest problem to be not knowing what I want and maybe by analyzing it here, I will. One can hope.

So, first thing? I painted in my journal for the first time last night. Faryn and I were smoking and she was making cards for her relatives and I was trying to figure what came next in the song I have been writing for the last eight years. Faryn finished and I decided to paint and for some reason, I decided to in my journal.

I am not a painter. I feel weird creating just about anything. I can't paint things, only patterns and shapes. If I know someone will see something I'm painting/drawing/whatever I get really uncomfortable and just fucking suck. However, since I was painting in my journal which I don't share with anyone, it was really freeing. I just painted what I felt and this is it:

It's not that great but I like it.