Disclaimer: There will be no recipes provided,but don’t cry about it – give me a holler and I’ll make you one. It is/will be delicious, I promise.
It’s been awhile. It’s also 115am and I’m teetering dangerously on the verge of hysteria if I don’t introduce sleep into my system soon. LIstening to Gardens & Villa at the mo’ and are they fantastic or what. These past months have been an emotional rollercoaster and all I want is to cast the shit out and be very glad of how extraordinary and beautiful the ride is currently turning out, because of special feelings, a particular sweet, sweet soul and this delicious feeling of freedom. Recently came back from a mad Euro trip that consisted of 7 flights and 7 major train rides across 4 different cities in 12 days. I miss that. Living independently. Even though I am guessing it’s a bad gauge of independence,but it was a teaser taste of how it’d be like to be on the road. And moving. And moving. Keep moving.
The familiar kinks inside the right shoulder meat of my neck will not go away no matter how violent my stretches or how persistent my postures. It spreads to the base of my neck and floods the back of my eyes with a sour sleepiness before panning out to transmute into an overall palpitating bodily sensation that brings on an unbearable disenchantment of life. Or is it the neck?
Lately I’ve gotten into the whole fitness hullabaloo and might I say how much I am enjoying it? So I decided to try out this recipe sans bacon plus tons of veggies. Yes please.
Just this afternoon: Ensconced in an area heavy with heat, I remember the orange light that spills into this isolated space that surrounds me and I am holding a rolling pin dusted with flour, smoothening out a ball of pliant dough while the ball of gold blazes just right outside, a swarm of ideas and things to say/express filling up my mind that had remained sad and empty just the day before, and I am suddenly flooded with an inexplicable joy. Dusting, rubbing, kneading, mixing, rolling, dusting. I love it all. Continue reading
This (quite delicious) bowl pictured above was a result of our initial straining of the tomato soup before realising it’d taste a whole lot better if we puréed everything so below you will find a tweaked recipe that eventually produced a most delicious, tangy bowl of soup. I also really like croutons so there was a big batch to go along. Continue reading
It’s 840pm and I have 20 minutes. Twenty minutes. To type this with my legs forming a V in the reflection in front of me, my head a mix of cotton and tabasco. A little corner of brain pocketing repulse at the ones who think themselves any special, or above common. But I shall leave that for another day. Because it’s going to be a good night. Continue reading
I had things to say all week but now I’m just sitting here, wrapped thickly by Youth’s dark melodies, the night dipping lower and lower yet, and I am wondering why the hell I’m not in bed when I told myself I would be by midnight. The bunches of muscle in my shoulders building up, forever erect, forever tense. Oh Passion Pit is playing and suddenly nothing matters much anymore, I guess ‘the lightness of being’ yes? Kundera you have some of my heart. Continue reading
The sky is gathering clouds as I type, and darkening as my eyes collect the unfulfilled hours of last night. So happy though. It’s been a crazy spell of bad weather these past few days. And bad weather to me would be vicious rays torching us all to become meringues with browned tips. So a couple of weeks back I decided to experiment with chocolate cake. Ever since my bout with chocolate cookies it became apparent to me that a chocolate recipe sans melted dark chocolate cannot be a good recipe. But this was Nigella and so I thought I’d take a stab. Continue reading
there is too much noise here. too many unnecessary words, extravagant flair. too much swagger. was watching CNN Heroes with mommy last night and Narayanan Krishnan said something that struck to the bone – inside us we are all made up of 5.5 litres of blood. no matter who the fuck you are, or what the fuck you wear or how many lambos you’ve managed to jam deep inside your asshole that’s all you are – 5.5 litres of blood. Or you may think you are that special, paving the way for your whimpering pups with gold encrusted bones of a deep sadness.
Before your hopes got up do you remember that sliver of doubt in between here and there? Here is where your mind gets dim and doubting, making up crazy ideas, closing in like a virgin’s cunt, crossing dark quiet pastures where only moonbeams graze… and there, there is the person you never thought you could be. Continue reading