Act of Creation

themoodofthepeople: Go ahead Daria! Shhhhhitttt.

Sat, 27 Apr 2013 17:07:10 -0400

Go ahead Daria! Shhhhhitttt.

Nat'l Poetry Month: Charles Bukowski

Fri, 19 Apr 2013 01:59:22 -0400

side of the sun

the bulls are grand as the side of the sun
and although they kill them for the stale crowds,
it is the bull that burns the fire,
and although there are cowardly bulls as
there are cowardly matadors and cowardly men,
generally the bull stands pure
and dies pure
untouched by symbols or cliques or false loves,
and when they drag him out
nothing has died
something has passed
and the eventual stench
is the world.

from “Burning in Water Drowning in Flame-Poems 1955-1973”

wwnorton: To celebrate Gran Cocina Latina’s win this week at...

Fri, 12 Apr 2013 16:28:11 -0400

wwnorton:

To celebrate Gran Cocina Latina’s win this week at the 2013 IACP Cookbook Awards in the “General Cookbook” category, here’s a recipe for yuca fingers and creamy cilantro sauce.

YUCA FINGERS
Serves 6 to 8

3 pounds fresh yuca, peeled and cut into 5-inch chunks, or 2 pounds frozen yuca
Corn oil or light olive oil, for deep-frying
Salt

Boil the yuca for about 30 minutes, until soft but not falling apart. Drain in a colander, remove the spindles and let cool. Cut the yuca lengthwise into 3- to 5-inch-long fingers about an inch thick, like French fries. Line a baking sheet with waxed paper and arrange the yuca fingers on it in a single layer. Cover loosely with plastic wrap or waxed paper and refrigerate until chilled and firm, preferably overnight. (The yuca fingers can be refrigerated for 2 to 3 days before frying.)

Heat the oil to 350°F in a large saucepan or deep skillet over medium heat. Working in batches, add the yuca fingers a few at a time to the hot oil and turn until lightly golden on all sides. Drain on paper towels and sprinkle with salt. Serve at once with the sauce.

CREAMY CILANTRO SAUCE PRESILLA (Salsa de Cilantro a la Presilla)
Makes 2 cups

2 cups mayonnaise, homemade or store-bought (Hellmann’s or Kraft)
4 garlic cloves, peeled
½ cup (well-packed) cilantro leaves, washed and dried
1 serrano or jalapeño pepper, seeded, deveined, and coarsely chopped
1 teaspoon ground cumin
¼ teaspoon ground allspice
½ teaspoon dried oregano
Juice of 1 lime (about 2 tablespoons)
Salt to taste

Place the mayonnaise in a blender or food processor. Add the garlic, cilantro, hot pepper, cumin, allspice, and oregano. Process until smooth and velvety. Season with the lime juice and salt to taste. If using a jarred mayonnaise, you might not need either since some brands are already tart and salty. If using Hellmann’s, add 1 teaspoon salt and the full amount of lime juice indicated in the recipe. Place in a bowl and serve with yuca fingers.

Buy Her A Diamond Before It's Too Late

Fri, 12 Apr 2013 15:01:57 -0400

“Winnie — who’s Tom?”

“Tom?”

“You said in your email that you knew you couldn’t be with Tom anymore. After meeting Lance.”

“That Tom.” Winnie smiled. “I met him my first day freshman year. He had this terrific grin. Real optimist. He came right up to me and said, ‘I think I’m going to marry you.’ I thought that was the best pickup line — he was so sincere. Why do you want to know about Tom?”

“I don’t know. I keep thinking about odd things. Like everything’s come loose in my brain. Like in dreams, only I feel that way all the time now. Do you know what happened to Tom?”

“I lost touch with him. I think he lives in California now. He was in grad school last time I saw him. Studying astrophysics. Strange for an optimist to study a field that’s so sure the whole universe is going to blow up.”

“Maybe it’s reassuring,” I said.

Buy at Amazon or at the iBook store. Maybe even Barnes & Noble if you have a Nook. Kobo store too.

themoodofthepeople: Nat'l Poetry Month: Robert Hayden

Thu, 11 Apr 2013 14:00:50 -0400

themoodofthepeople: Nat'l Poetry Month: Robert Hayden:

themoodofthepeople:

The Ballad of Nat Turner

Then fled, O brethren, the wicked juba
and wandered wandered far
from curfew joys in the Dismal’s night.
Fool of St. Elmo’s fire

In scary night I wandered, praying,
Lord God my harshener,
speak to me now or let me die;
speak, Lord, to this mourner.

And came at length to livid trees

"Something I’ve learned about writing, in poetry specifically, by John [Ashbery’s] example, is to..."

Sun, 07 Apr 2013 21:21:24 -0400

“Something I’ve learned about writing, in poetry specifically, by John [Ashbery’s] example, is to trust my subconscious. It’s much smarter than I am. My intelligence is a little better than average, but when my subconscious is on—I mean it’s also totally not to be trusted, shifty, full of gaps of like, ‘when did you meet so-and-so in your childhood?’—but, when it’s on, it’s a self-oiling machine that makes uncanny connections. And John, as artist and person, has instilled in me the idea to trust whatever happens in the back of your brain.”

- Adam Fitzgerald, whose first book of poems, The Late Parade, is forthcoming in June. (via wwnorton)

themoodofthepeople: My chapbook has been released!

Thu, 07 Mar 2013 15:24:42 -0500

themoodofthepeople: My chapbook has been released!:

themoodofthepeople:

Hello friends. My chapbook “amores gitano (gypsy loves)” is available from Cervena Barva Press.

I invite you to purchase a copy. If you do, thank you for your support. If you can, please reblog this! Thank you!

7$, 30pgs-

“In his chapbook, amores gitano, Roberto Carlos Garcia breathes adult…

Interview with Roberto C. Garcia by Christian Mailloux

Fri, 01 Mar 2013 23:03:10 -0500

robertocarlosgarcia:

An interview with Cervena Barva for my upcoming chapbook, “Amores Gitano (gypsy loves).”

http://www.cervenabarvapress.com/newsletter.htm#INTERVIEW2

solangenoir: Pretty Words ©2012 Solange Noir

Mon, 04 Feb 2013 22:40:49 -0500

solangenoir:

Pretty Words ©2012 Solange Noir

Noel

Fri, 21 Dec 2012 22:04:04 -0500

wwnorton:

Like a single
ornament,

the red cardinal
on a pine

outside
the window

is our only
decoration,

until
the snow.

—Linda Pastan, from Traveling Light: Poems

Photo

Fri, 30 Nov 2012 13:34:56 -0500

themoodofthepeople: Come on out & Have a Good Time! (Please Reblog!)

Fri, 30 Nov 2012 13:33:44 -0500

themoodofthepeople: Come on out & Have a Good Time! (Please Reblog!):

themoodofthepeople:

Sunday, December 9th at 6 pm (doors open at 5:30)

Merrill Black, a curriculum consultant who teaches at the CUNY School of Professional Studies, is working on a memoir and sings in a blues band. Her work has appeared in The New York Times, New York Press, More.com and …

I Was Possessed By A Djinni

Mon, 12 Nov 2012 22:34:05 -0500

Yes, I was possessed by a djinni.True Story. Read my confession here.

The Majlis al-Jinn cave in Oman.

Mr. Wazzeldot

Thu, 30 Aug 2012 14:00:10 -0400

photo from The Time Tunnel

Mr. Wazzeldot has seven legs. He lives very comfortably. He likes to sit by the fire. There’s a large cushion for a chair, and in the evenings, he sips his Bloody Marys. I know because I visit him quite frequently. Too frequently. Sometimes, Mr. Wazzeldot isn’t very happy to see me. But he’s a good host and invites me in and nods as I talk and talk.

Mr. Wazzeldot has no mother or father. He has no brothers or sisters. No relatives of any kind. No birth, no death, Mr. Wazzeldot has no beginning and no ending. I think this is very sad. But I’m sure I’m only being ontologically condescending.

When he speaks, the whole room murmurs. His voice comes from the many hairs on his legs. He speaks slowly, waiting for his voices to catch up. He would much rather listen than talk. He’s very much entertained by stories. He doesn’t differentiate between real and made-up, and when I try to explain to him the difference, it drives him crazy because he doesn’t understand why I make the effort. Truth and fiction — it tastes the same to him, it looks the same to him, it feels the same to him — all stories. I’m the one being difficult in insisting there is a difference. And when I try to explain it all to him, I have to admit, I get all confused and start to bite my own tail, bits and pieces of my argument starting to stick to all the wrong parts. I once passed out. Lack of oxygen, from trying to talk back to where I’d started from and getting wound and wound back up again.

Mr. Wazzeldot is all legs, really. No head to speak of, just a soft squishy round body that sort of anchors all the legs in position. His feet are pads, so tiny, they’re barely discernible. He’s all legs, all thin legs that fold up in all manner of shapes and look covered with down because of all the amazing hairs that seem to manage everything for him. When I get to know him better, I’d like to ask him where his brain is. It could be inside the squishy body, but maybe his brain is in the hairs of his legs, all parceled out. Since he talks with his hairs, he drinks with his hairs, he sees with his hairs — he must think with his hairs. But then, I often get things wrong and confuse myself and confuse everyone around me and Mr. Wazzeldot gets so annoyed.

What does it mean when you’re the only one of your kind? The only example of your species in the entire universe?

He’s a nocturnal creature. He’ll make himself small. I mean, really small. He’ll go into your ear and into your brain, tripping from thought to thought until he finds a morsel he really likes. If he likes it and it’s portable, he’ll tuck it away to take back with him. He has boxes and boxes of souvenirs. Sounds, colors, pricked emotions, a tossed aside word or memory. He’ll take what you ate for dinner and eat it himself — what he likes is pineapple ice cream, pork dumplings, and slippery noodles, cold or hot.

I’d like to do it, follow him around while he’s doing his collections. I can’t think of anything more fascinating. And Mr. Wazzeldot says it’s possible, if I really want to do it, only I’d have to make some changes, loose bits of myself, any bit that Mr. Wazzeldot deems unnecessary to the enterprise. And certainly, once I’m on my way, I never look back but focus completely on what I’m becoming. That in itself is always so fascinating. Only now, when I haven’t begun, it’s hard to decide and —

He’s such a curious creature, Mr. Wazzeldot —

Well, now you’ve caught me thinking and I must run to Mr. Wazzeldot.

Concentric In mid dream, mid journey, there’s a barrier we...

Sat, 25 Aug 2012 02:01:57 -0400

Concentric

In mid dream, mid journey, there’s a barrier we must cross, flat and vast like an ocean. We’re told the barrier is a monster. To cross the barrier we must maim one of its eyes. There, rising to the surface is half a large sphere—the eye. The eye turns into a tiny monster: round little head, round little body, with two round eyes, one of which is decorated with concentric circles. The monster is as adorable as any toy you’ll ever see. The only way to maim its eye is to throw a round ball at it. We keep missing. The little monster, lying flat on its back, watches the tossed balls. Thinking we’re playing a game together, it laughs and laughs with joy. Mid laughter we attack, savagely butchering not one but both its eyes. The little monster is stunned, confusion and shock frozen on its face. Horror floats through every layer of consciousness.

Letras Caseras: Miranda by J.A. Pak

Mon, 06 Aug 2012 15:05:22 -0400

Letras Caseras: Miranda by J.A. Pak:

letrascaseras:

When I was miranda and my mother Rose, ours was a skinless intimacy. miranda in Rose’s womb, captured in an essence of love, anger, frustration, fear, the overwhelming stress of Rose’s life heavy syrup that kept the bond between spirit and body weak and loosened.

First drops…

miranda, my short story of tenderness, now at Fictionaut:...

Thu, 02 Aug 2012 12:28:15 -0400

miranda, my short story of tenderness, now at Fictionaut: http://www.fictionaut.com/stories/ja-pak/miranda

Lucy was right when she said weddings make you all covetous (I...

Wed, 01 Aug 2012 12:17:00 -0400

Lucy was right when she said weddings make you all covetous (I love that word, the way it’s so filled with hidden desire, obsession mauling your soul). ~ from Buy Her A Diamond Before It’s Too Late, available at Amazon and Smashwords

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008CS5FUC

agirlwithsmalldreams: Petra, Jordan

Fri, 27 Jul 2012 19:51:47 -0400

agirlwithsmalldreams:

Petra, Jordan

Smashwords Sale

Sun, 01 Jul 2012 14:54:42 -0400

Smashwords Summer/Winter sale is here! My novels are free for the month. Use code SSWIN: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/edenstreet #ebooks #free #sale

Act of Creation

themoodofthepeople: Go ahead Daria! Shhhhhitttt.

Nat'l Poetry Month: Charles Bukowski

wwnorton: To celebrate Gran Cocina Latina’s win this week at...

Buy Her A Diamond Before It's Too Late

themoodofthepeople: Nat'l Poetry Month: Robert Hayden

Then fled, O brethren, the wicked juba and wandered wandered far from curfew joys in the Dismal’s night. Fool of St. Elmo’s fire In scary night I wandered, praying, Lord God my harshener, speak to me now or let me die; speak, Lord, to this mourner. And came at length to livid trees

"Something I’ve learned about writing, in poetry specifically, by John [Ashbery’s] example, is to..."

themoodofthepeople: My chapbook has been released!

Interview with Roberto C. Garcia by Christian Mailloux

solangenoir: Pretty Words ©2012 Solange Noir

Noel

Photo

themoodofthepeople: Come on out & Have a Good Time! (Please Reblog!)

I Was Possessed By A Djinni

Mr. Wazzeldot

Concentric In mid dream, mid journey, there’s a barrier we...

Letras Caseras: Miranda by J.A. Pak

miranda, my short story of tenderness, now at Fictionaut:...

Lucy was right when she said weddings make you all covetous (I...

agirlwithsmalldreams: Petra, Jordan

Smashwords Sale

Then fled, O brethren, the wicked juba
and wandered wandered far
from curfew joys in the Dismal’s night.
Fool of St. Elmo’s fire

In scary night I wandered, praying,
Lord God my harshener,
speak to me now or let me die;
speak, Lord, to this mourner.

And came at length to livid trees