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Wednesday, June 24, 2009

On "the Flarf issue"...


...of Poetry: 1) I haven't seen it, but I know many of the flarf poems included therein becuz I'm a privileged cabalist, and 2) Stan's review is funny.

Someday, maybe even someday soon, I will write a poem. Possible when the sun stops playing grabass with the clouds.

Friday, June 19, 2009

Earning for Yearning art project by Kari F.


do you miss your childhood dog/cat
do you miss your grandparents in Florida
do you miss your sister in Chicago
do you miss your lover in Louisiana
do you miss your orthodontist in Arizona
do you miss your mountain in Utah
do you miss your best friend in Maine
email EarningForYearning@gmail.com
tell them all about it they will buy you a plane ticket for the reunion

Down on the farm


Ah, country living. A snippet from this week's CSA newletter:

"This has got to be the craziest warning we have ever had to issue: Due to the wet spring, snapping turtles have been found in and around the farm market area (lSaturday night we found one on our porch stoop!). There have been three sightings in the past three days. PLEASE DO NOT APPROACH A SNAPPING TURTLE AND DO NOT LEAVE CHILDREN UNATTENDED IN THE PICNIC AREA, PYO FIELDS OR LAWN AREA. ALSO, DO NOT ALLOW CHILDREN TO VISIT THE PORT-A-JOHNS UNATTENDED."

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Noted


It is more difficult to sustain a fling with language than a romantic might suppose.

Saturday, June 6, 2009

After great stress...


...an unmotivated feeling comes?

Cranking and cranking, but I just won't turn over.

Perhaps it's because NJ seems not to have realized it's June. Enough with the rain and chilly air!

Deviant Beach Reads


Thursday, June 4, 2009

The Weekly Box: Weeks One & Two




Our CSA membership has just started up for the season. The first week our share was a mere 1/2 pint of pick-your-own strawberries and two lettuces--but OH what strawberries and lettuces. Last Friday, our second week, the haul was more substantial. Three beautiful lettuces--one green leaf, one red, and a spiky red-tipped variety--and a full-to-overflowing quart of PYO strawberries. (Not to mention the ones we ate while picking.)

So while the goods are super fresh, the menu's not too complex yet. There's really nothing more to do than rinse and eat.

However, I did make a raw strawberry tart. The recipe is based on this one from Matt Amsden's Rawvolution, but I used less agave nectar on the berries. Just enough to make 'em shine. I don't have any small pie tins, but that Pyrex refrigerator dish I found at Goodwill a couple weeks ago ($2!) redeemed the tart's fugliness somewhat & anyway one bite and who cares what it looks like? Mmmmm.
Strawberry Fields Forever
From Rawvolution by Matt Amsden

For the crust:

2 C raw almonds, finely ground in a food processor
1/2 C agave nectar

For the filling:

1 1/2 C strawberries
1/4 C agave nectar [I used much less]

To make the crust:

in a mixing bowl, combine the ground almonds and agave nectar, and mix well. Press the mixture evenly into the bottom and sides of a 5 inch pie tin.

To make the filling:

in a food processor, slice the strawberries with the slicing disc. [Unnecessary! I used me trusty knife.] Transfer the sliced berries to a mixing bowl, add the agave nectar, and mix well. Spoon the mixture into the pie crust and serve.

Things are looking up...


...and I have the next four days to spend making an effort.

Today all of my emails will begin with "I'm so sorry it's taken me so long...."

I'm reading George Sand's Journal Intimé, which I picked up at the I-forgot-to-mention-how-awesome Book Barn, a must-stop indoor/outdoor wonderland for bibliophiles in Niantic, CT.

She makes me almost miss my own journal, which I abandoned for love. (Can only withstand a single confidante.). But I'm also so relieved not to be as emotionally stormy as that former me. She's thirty in it, and "still beautiful." Exhausted at the ass-end of her affair with Alfred de Musset. In letters she never sent, she throws herself wholly into romantic indulgences, manic highs and lows. I don't agree she never meant the pages to be read--hers is a literary performance. She feels both proud and enthralled by her passion but also somewhat ridiculous, which are the times she flashes with rage.

Earlier I repaired the vacuum cleaner, and I'm feeling sneezy. What a contrast, eh?