Peculiar Eats

The sauce of desperation recipe:

1 oz. wasabi peas

1 tsp.  rice wine vinegar

1.5 tsp. soy sauce

1-2 tbsp. peanut oil

1 tsp. raw sugar

the minced ginger, or sesame oil I didn't have, but only one or the other

Pulverize wasabi peas however you can, into as fine a powder as you can, then assemble like salad dressing (everything but oil goes in, gets mixed well, add oil slowly), serve with, in my case Panko breaded chicken cutlet or just about any fish and fluffy rice.

My apologies for the lack of photo but I am posting and eating.

In Honor of a Fallen Fellow

I have quit smoking, twenty-nine days ago, and in memory of my "cool before death" attitude...

I am the bodhisattva of ash. My flame, my smoke, they are all nothing. All that is, is my ashen waste. Traveling first in flame, second on wind and last on earth, I know no home. I am vibrant, behind my brother flame who helps me grow. I am hopeless. I am light in wind. The currents are my tool and master. I move across the effortless streams of life searching only for a place to rest but never die. I taste of sulfur; I reek of tobacco, which I help to prosper in the earth I regenerate. I am the opulence the cancer and the cool. This is my circle. My middle is your moment of satisfaction drawing in my sister smoke it is my birth and childhood joy you take in. The three of us, flame, smoke and ash playing in nanoseconds to you, but in a moment I am alone. They leave abandoning me with you till you too are done and my travels begin. I am the remnant of despots and warriors of old. I am shoveled away by blacksmiths and sweeps. I am the waste. I am the bodhisattva of ash. I am the best cigarette ever.

The most interesting thing in my home now.

I regret only having to eventually move it across the country.

Productivity before content.

Test of writing pad to elastic composition... Elastic composition are
you receiving?

All in an effort to improve spelling and speed from iPhone.

Sent by Alan via Mr. Tumnus.

Particle Fever

I cannot get this image out of my head lately...

Daviad Foster Wallace died and all I did was wear a lousy bandana.

The first real post.

It seems a first post should be so exciting, dynamic, interesting; (Jesus I spent over a year between starting all this and mustering the gumption to post some writing that fatefully, no one will EVER read) something to grab hold of this phantom intersoul audience,  to wriggle these vaporious echos in to their corporal, pimpled, dim, fantastic selves. Instead all I have is an overwhelming sense to feign empathy for a man whose works I've sparcley read, whom I never took the time to see lecture and whose vocabulary consistantly assured me that I know nothing of my own language.

First off, top of my DFW list is Everything and More: A Compact History of Infinity, detailing the long and troubled trail of our misunderstandings of the infinte.

"What did I learn?", a great deal, the most amusing being that the great powerful and mighty ancient Rome contributed nothing to either the study of the infinte or mathematics in general. Don't know why but that's what truly stuck.

Also in my trusty, ever-ready DFW reading list is Brief Interviews with Hideous Men, a collection of short stories, and interviews with the humorously disturbed.

Enough commmercial, onto the tender meat nearer the to the bone.

David Foster Wallace shaped my belief in challenging the reader at every moment, and I believe shared a common feeling of inundation: with the world at large, the information obtainable, and the emotional stresses all those around you fabricate. A sense that at some unforseen core, simplicity in all things is merely equivalance.

A sleeping dog for the world.

Any even larger possible malcontent

All this, a refreshed attemp at mobility and profesionalism.

Sent by Alan via Mr. Tumnus.