to think about what tastes good and shop with tastebuds, textures and time in mind, challenge your palate with things you might not like but just maybe through salt, fat, sweet and vinegar you’ll begin a journey with no end
Start with basics: pick a thing that as a kid you loved and muck about with it add stuff, take stuff reflect on heat (too high is the trap we all fall in, or too low, through fear)
Most of all cook, as a ritual make victuals that force a grin that draw friends, families and lovers in and with greasy fingers and chins, grand sustenance and common guilt, we’ll smile and rise
The corners singed Smoke rising It was on too long So not surprising Next time I won't read: The email, the text, or the Instagram message. Tomorrow I'll forget I'll flick the switch And my mind will drift Like a balloon sailing out to sea And once again burnt toast Will be waiting for me
What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for you. Dinner is cooked; our drinks are chilling, and I’ve taken a hot bath. I want to be comfortable so I can enjoy your company. Your kiss is tasty, did you just pop a mint? That’s okay love, it’s all good to me. Go ahead, make yourself at home, wash your hands, I’ll fix our plates. Yep, you have a steak and potatoes, and I have fish and veggies. But King my Dear, you’re my main dish. Can I fix you a drink? Do you need some ice? So how was dinner, did you get enough? Thanks for the compliment, I’m glad you liked it. Sure, I’ll pour you another drink, and top it off with ruby red. Do I want to hear some music? You know I do. Put on what you think I like? Kem is fine my **** King, and pump up the volume cause I am ready!
I have a two-week breaking point. For 14 days I go through the motions: emotionless. For a fortnight of time, I am indifferent to all things.
Yet on that 15th day I snap, bringing my composure down as well.
On the 15th day, I resort back to a shell of dependency, hunkering away in isolation with nobody to depend on. I become a nail made for a wall, but with no wall to go into. My sole purpose is hopeless and my ambitions crushed.
Three Scottish hags brew up a political storm in a...cauldron.
Inspired by Suri Ben N who got me overthinking about brevity, Shakespeare, alternative storylines, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and the existential milieu in general.
‘We do on stage things that are supposed to happen off. Which is a kind of integrity, if you look on every exit as being an entrance somewhere else.’ - Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead
The cover never tells the truth, for every story... has papercuts when you've turned the page. Every fable can tell a tale, some sweet as pie, but not all apples are syrupy, some putrefy from the core.
For this cover shows her reading, while rabbits playfully play. Not one for ill suspense..
The book was different ways to cook rabbit, she knew they attended this spot. Know your pray, Remember that to be at ease gives them a false sense of passivity.
Now when your ready, make your move..
The best practice is to scare, for a moment of uncertainty will make then scatter in directions not uniformed..
With that she slammed the books pages together, startled bunnies ran in all directions... The ground around sewn with steel teeth awaiting gentle steps to snap shut...
She stood up proud, that the book was true, not all tales are fairy tales some are truthful. As a few were still squirming, she did an act of kindness, the book heavy as it came down.
The family will feed well tonight, she had to wipe off the fur but there were plenty more stories of how to capture and create that fairy tale meal..