August

Skin-tight with longing, like dangerous girls,
the tomatoes reel, drunk
from the vine.

The corn, its secret ears
studded like microphones, transmits August
across the field: paranoid crickets, the noise of snakes
between the stalks, peeling themselves from
themselves.

I am burdened as the sky,
clouds, upset buckets pour
their varnish onto earth.

Last year you asked if I was
faint because of the blood. The tomatoes
bristled in their improbably skins,
eavesdropping


This is one way to say it.
The girl gone, you left.

and this another.
Last year in August I hung
my head between my knees, looked up
flirting with atmosphere
but you were here
and the sky had no gravity.

Now love falls from me,
walls from a besieged city.
When I move the mountains shrug off.
Skin, horizon shudders, I wear the moon
a cowbell

My symptom:
the earth's
constant rotation.


On the surface the sea argues.
The tide pulls water like a cloth
from the table, beached boats, dishes
left standing. Without apology
nature abandons us.
Returns, promiscuous, and slides between
sheets, unspooling the length
of our bodies

Black wild rabbits beside the lighthouse
at Letite. They disappear before
I am certain I've seen them.
Have they learned this from you?


I read the journal of the boy who starved
to death on the other side of a river
under trees grown so old he would not feed them
to a signal fire. His last entry:
August 12 Beautiful Blueberries!

Everything I say about desire or
hunger is only lip service
in the face of it.

Still there were days I know
your mouth gave that last taste of blue.


When you said you were
leaving
I pictured a tree;
spring, the green
nippled buds

not the fall
when we are banished
from the garden.


Another woman fell
in love with the sea,
land kissed by salt, the skin
at the neck a tidal zone, she rowed
against the escaping tide
fighting to stay afloat.

To find the sea she had to turn her back to it,
stroke.

The sea is a wound
and in loving it
she learned to love what goes missing.


Once the raspberries grew
into our room, swollen as the
brains of insects, I dreamt a
wedding. We could not find our
way up the twisted ramp, our from under
ground, my hair earth-damp.

I woke. A raspberry bush clung to us
sticky as the toes of frogs.
A warning: you carried betrayal
like a mantis
folded to your chest- legs, wings, tongue
would open, knife
the leaves above us.


If I could step into
your skin, my fingers
into your fingers putting on
gloves, my legs, your legs,
a snake zipping
up. If I could look
out of your tired eyeholes
brain of my brain,
I might know
why we failed.
(Once we thought the same
thoughts, felt the same things.)

A heavy cloak, I wear
you, an old black wing
I can't shrug off.

O heart of my heart,
come home. O flesh,
come to me before the worm, before earth
ate the girl,
before you left without
belongings.


You said, there are women
I know whose presence
changes the quality of air.

I am not one of those. The leaves
lift and sigh, the river
keeps saying the unsayable things.
I hesitate to prod the corn from the coals
though I have soaked it in Arctic water.
I stop the knife near the tomato
skin, all summer coiled there.
You are not coming back.

One step is closer to
the fire.

September will fall
with twilight's metal
loose change
from a pocket. Quicker than an
oar can fight water,
I will look up from my feet
catch the leaves red-handed
embracing smoke.

Around me, lost things gather
for an instant
in earth-dark air.

-Esta Spalding

ANAIS NIN:

I like her alright...

but overrated, right?

I mean, if she wasn't an attractive woman writing a lot about sex, would anyone have noticed her for her style?

Sex is an easy sell, even in literature. It is harder to garner attention and admiration when you are writing about stuff like morality, ethics. Give me Flannery O'Connor over Anais Nin anyday.

Theresa, Michael, random people from Malaysia. Please weigh in on this.

I don't know if I remember how to write anymore.

Except product descriptions.

Somehow, other kinds of art just seem easier.

I'm internet famous!!!!!!

SEE: http://hairypitsclub.tumblr.com/post/4927814840/i-think-hairy-armpits-are-extremely-sexy

Hateful Holy Week

Maybe I should move to Austin. Maybe I should go away somewhere (my roommate plays the shittiest music so loudly).

I HATE HUMANITY.

Break-ins through my window, studded cell phone holders, yelling during acoustic sets, resurrections.

I don't see anything good about this life.

I'm going to be a better person and use my time more wisely.
Which means not talking to you any more and not spending so many hours looking out of windows thinking of you.
Bikes, dogs and pizza.
More coffee with coconut milk, absolutely no facebook.

from a 2004 article by the New York Times about the loneliest whale in the world. Scientists have been tracking her since 1992 and they discovered the problem:

She isn’t like any other baleen whale. Unlike all other whales, she doesn’t have friends. She doesn’t have a family. She doesn’t belong to any tribe, pack or gang. She doesn’t have a lover. She never had one. Her songs come in groups of two to six calls, lasting for five to six seconds each. But her voice is unlike any other baleen whale. It is unique—while the rest of her kind communicate between 12 and 25hz, she sings at 51.75hz. You see, that’s precisely the problem. No other whales can hear her. Every one of her desperate calls to communicate remains unanswered. Each cry ignored. And, with every lonely song, she becomes sadder and more frustrated, her notes going deeper in despair as the years go by.

Today I took my first epic hike in the Sandia Mountain Wilderness and Cibola National Forest. After navigating the Saturn down some unsettlingly primitive roads, I reached the trail head. There is a certain degree of joy in taking the Saturn off the beaten path.

I took a moment to peruse the map of trails and various warnings. Hikers in the Sandias die from falling trees all the time, apparently. And did you know this?:

"Visitors might be surprised to learn that fleas carrying bubonic plague can sometimes be found in New Mexico. Stay away from dead rodents that you might come across while in the wilderness."

If the threat of falling trees and the plague was not exciting enough- there are cougars and bears too! The signs instructed me to never hike alone, but I'm no coward.

Less than a quarter of a mile into this hike, I encountered a shirtless man whose skin had the quality of... I don't know. It looked extremely smooth and extremely sunburned. He also warned me about hiking alone. He strongly insisted that I find a stick and carry it with me. "Why?" you might ask. Perhaps to make my walk more peaceful and relaxing? For something to lean on? No, nothing quite so tame. This stick was explicitly to be used (this is a direct quote from the grandfatherly man with a sunburn) to "beat the shit out of a mountain lion."

That's correct. If a mountain lion attacks you, you should always attempt to beat the shit out of it. This is my stick:

Yes, despite being vegan and newly able to articulate a more radical than ever stance on animal rights, if it came down to it, I would bludgeon a cougar that wanted to eat me with this thing. I selected this stick after misplacing my first one when I stopped to have a snack and drink water. I nearly discarded this stick after a sharp protrusion cut my leg, but then decided this was actually just a reason to keep this particular stick.

I did not see any mountain lions, bears or dead rodents, though.

I CAN'T STOP

Listening to this song by Sand Witches, incidentally from Bloomington.

I don't like pretending, because i don't like lying, because i think that everything counts. so i'll have to admit that i still miss you. and i feel like you are winning, because you have her and you have a job while i spent that weekend getting rained on in Cleavland. and i hate that she has the same name as my cousin, and more freckles than i do, and she's quite a bit taller. so i feel kind of strange talking about this in public, or over the pa system in my basement, but my friends think that you have bad hair and you made my cry. so to them you're an easy target. i have twenty dollars in library dues on books that i've been renewing since march at the latest. and it's one of the few things that makes me feel less adult. that and the fact that i don't like wearing socks. well i grew up between baltimore and dc, so i am already used to hating august. and i'm good at being mean, and dealing with traffic, and i had a lisp when i was thirteen. so i know how it feels to be scared to talk, but man that day you sort of did it all wrong. and there are only two pictures of us together that i know of, and you don't even want me, but you own them both. what the fuck?

DOWNLOAD THE EP HERE

I want someone to make this for me SO bad, that is why I hath included the recipe.
Yes, this tofu is crispy. And yes it is golden. But, it is also pretty darn tasty. The mustard and the hot sauce combined with the spices makes it rather delightful on its own, or topped with a sauce of your choice. It is important to press the tofu well so there is not too much water trying escape during cooking that will sog your breading. The panko is also essential. Lastly, I don't see any reason why you could not bake these at 450 for 15-20 mins or so per side (spray lightly with oil, perhaps), but I have not tried it myself.

INGREDIENTS
- 1 pkg extra firm tofu

- 1 1/4 cup plain soy milk
- 2 tbsp mustard
- 2 tbsp hot sauce
- 1/2 tsp salt

- 3/4 cup flour
- 1 tsp salt
- large pinch ground pepper
- 1 tsp poultry spice
- 1 tsp paprika (smoked if you have it)

- about 1 1/2 cups panko crumbs

- oil for frying

METHOD
1. Cut tofu into 12 slices. Line a baking sheet with a towel, then place the tofu on top. Put a towel on top of the tofu, then put another baking sheet on top of that. Put a weight on top and press the tofu for 15 mins.
2. Get a frying pan heating on the stove over medium to medium high heat.
3. Whisk together soy milk, mustard, hot sauce, and salt in a medium bowl. Whisk together flour and spices in a another. Place 1/2 cup of the panko crumbs in yet another bowl.
4. Dip a piece of the tofu into the soy milk mixture, then dredge in the flour mixture. Set on a baking sheet. Repeat with all the tofu.
5. Add about 1/4 inch of oil to the frying pan. Re-dip 4 pieces in the soy milk mixture, then toss in the panko crumbs (one at a time of course, adding more panko to the bowl if needed). Fry for a few mins per side, until golden and crispy (adjusting heat as needed). Drain on paper towels or a paper bag.
6. Add fresh panko the bowl (another 1/2 cup or so) and repeat step 5 with another four pieces, adding more oil as needed. Repeat again with the remaining four pieces.

NOTE: a few pieces of panko will fall off during cooking that will start to burn and stick to your next pieces of tofu. If you don't care, then great. If you do care, then remove these pieces with a slotted spoon between batches.

FROM VEGAN DAD

You should, uh, see the other guy

Ahhhhh torturing myself with too much time while dogsitting. I don't want to love anyone any more!
but you're the coolest and I can't wait to see you.

Female fronted hardcore comp. vol. 1

I feel like a know a bazillion people who would really like this

a bunch of cool stuff:
Abolitionist vegans

Slayer's masterwork

from Theresa's blog: Things that are Ridiculous


This band from Bloomington

Liz Prince

Portlandia is overhyped and with the material they have, could be a way better show, but I still think that this is hilarious.

“Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won’t know for twenty years. And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce. And they say there is no fate, but there is: it’s what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to but it doesn’t really. And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along. Something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel whole, something to make you feel loved. And the truth is I feel so angry, and the truth is I feel so fucking sad, and the truth is I’ve felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I’ve been pretending I’m OK, just to get along, just for, I don’t know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen.”

—synecdoche, new york.

Album Review: Ex Wife- Everything Was Beautiful

Yes, I'm pretty sick of everyone quoting Vonnegut: "everything was beautiful and nothing hurt." But honestly, the use of those words has never sounded less derivative.

It seems like everyone is extremely excited about Ex Wife's newest EP, June. As I was unable to purchase it from Bandcamp or download it from MediaFire, I am woefully behind the curve and am reviewing their only full length, Everything Was Beautiful, which came out last year or something. Yet, its new to me and perhaps to you, too.

Ex Wife makes me want to rock out, which you may or may not know- I don't do very often. I am seduced by the spare lyrics of these songs and the catchy blend of emo/hardcore/pop that these New Jersey natives are creating.

I feel like this review is already falling flat because I can't express the way these tracks resonate with me, feeling somehow like being a teenager again sitting in my empty garage smoking a cigarette, feeling sad for the sake of it. Simultaneously, knowing that the same sadness I craved so long ago isn't glamorous or beautiful. It just hurts. Everything Was Beautiful speaks to the girl on either side of the timeline of growing up.

I've only heard the title track from the newest EP and it is immediately evident that the two men behind Ex Wife don't intend to rehash an old sound-- although they seem to be rehashing old subject matter. Whatever. It never gets old to me. With lyrics like these (do you still feel so cold even though you now own half my clothes? they fit you better anyway. youve ruined this place for me but its okay. ill find another park to do drugs and waste away. ill be fine i guess, ive just been seeing you everywhere in your favorite dress, the summer in your hair.) I can't wait to spend the summer in the high desert with this as company.

Download Everything Was Beautiful Here: http://www.mediafire.com/?zwgwrrwgnwm
Buy or listen to June EP Here: http://exwife.bandcamp.com/track/june

You're not going to call, are you? Damn.

I was just going to sleep on your futon and then break your heart, anyway.