Text Thursday: Quickie

More words à la Newspaper Blackout.

dream

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Table-Talk Tuesday: Pumpkins – no added baby.

Because all the cool kids do it.

This Table-Talk Tuesday is brought to you by food porn. Also I’ve read a lot of StraightTalkingVegetables annnd BlissfulBritt annnnd watched a lot of My Drunk Kitchen lately (which I’m sure you can tell just by the tone of this post).

So I tried to be an adult and ‘cook’. Or ‘coo – ok’ I’m not sure of the exact pronunciation, blah blah more-jokes-about-not-being-a-real-adult blah. So this happened:

realisation that you're home alone on your night off taking pictures of soup to blog about it.
I made this.

It went like this:

Vegan Creamy Pumpkin & Cauliflower Soup

I’m not pushing any agendas here. I just called it vegan because I want to sound like I know what I’m doing it has no animals in it. It also has no lactose either, if that’s helpful. Each to their own, mofos.

You Will need:

A place for cooking. Possibly even a kitchen.

Some water in a pot (enough to comfortably cover the pumpkin and cauliflower).

Some Massel awesomeness (I vote Ultracube Chicken flavor – x2 cubes).

Chicken flavor because hello – delicious (no gluten, lactose, or animal content in these babies. No baby content either).

Some Kent pumpkin (about a quarter).

Half a small cauliflower.

Dairy free butter or margarine (one level tablespoon <- that’s a dirty lie, I put a shit-load in).

With vitamin D because I don’t go outside it’s good for you.

I use Nuttlex Lite, because I’m just obnoxious like that.

A blender.

Then do this:

To make it I did some of this
Skin the pumpkin while it’s still alive. Ignore the screaming. I blurred out the violence because apparently my camera thinks my freckly wrist is more important for censorship reasons.

and

Rip it's uterus out.
Rip the uterus out. Appetizing.

and

admire the pumpkin featuses.
Admire the pumpkin fetuses.

and

Freak out about pumpkin hair.
Freak out about pumpkin hair.

and

Eventually remember what you were supposed to be doing.
Eventually remember what you’re supposed to be doing.

and

all cut up
Hack the pumpkin flesh into pretty chunks.

and do the same type of thing with the cauliflower.

Cauliflower is feeling dark and brooding.
Cauliflower is not as photogenic. Sorry cauliflower, but we can’t all be models. Truth bomb. Right there. Wisdom and cooking. It’s what I’m about.

Then make the water all bubbly-like with a kitchen heat machine. Add the pumpkin, cauliflower, stock cubes and simmer the shit out off it until everything falls apart.

Then turn off the heat contraption and let it all just chill out for a second. Maybe have one of these:

om
Sour Apple and Blood Orange Vodka Cocktail thingy. Classy as fuck.

Then stir in the fuck-tonne tablespoon of Nuttlex or whatever you’ve chosen to cream things up with and blend until it looks like someone already digested it.

TA DA! Congratulations! Hopefully, you made this:

Baby food! Sprinkled with solidified dirty tears born of the realisation that you're home alone on your night off taking pictures of soup to blog about it.
Baby food! Sprinkled with solidified dirty tears born of the realisation that you’re home alone on your night off taking pictures of soup to blog about it.

Now Instagram the shit out of it so everyone knows what you’re currently digesting eat it. Eat it all.

To eat, you will need:

A mouth.

A scooping utensil.

A camera because ‘pics or it didn’t happen’.

Step One:

First you scoop it
First you scoop it

Step Two:

The you marvel at the consistency.
Then you marvel at the consistency.
Check out that Fin Keel action there.
Check out that Fin Keel action there.

My name is Jessica Dendy. I get excited by the consistency of soup. Gentlemen form an orderly line to the left, I’ll be with you as soon as I get over having cooked something that tastes like and even resembles food.

Step Three:

Put it in your mouth (that’s what he-don’t say it. It’s all downhill from there).

Step Four:

Take the spoon out and realise you missed a bit.
Take the spoon out and realise you missed a bit, leaving your partner tongue unsatisfied.

Don’t panic. You can still exit this situation with dignity if you do exactly as I say.

Step Five:

Put it back into your mouth and suck it dry.

…What? Don’t look at me like that.

There - isn't that satisfying?
There – isn’t that satisfying?

Step Six:

Repeat until there’s no soup left.

Its easy once you get the hang of it.
It’s easy once you get the hang of it.

Make sure to clean, wash up, put the pumpkin skin in the compost.

Compost, because it's good for the enviroment.
Compost, because it makes you feel better about how much food you waste it’s good for the environment.

Freudian Friday: James Geary talks aphorism and Elvis.

The Mathematics of Metaphor.

(I promise that this will probably be the last time I use the word mathematics on this blog).

In this fantastic talk, I is an Other novelist and former editor of Time James Geary discusses metaphor and Elvis. Specifically, the impact of metaphor on our daily lives. I can’t voice how much I enjoy his ideas and enthusiasm. His site hosts such a wealth of creativity and ideas – I want to have his brain babies. Video courtesy of my favorite people at TED.

You can pick up a copy of James Geary’s works I is an Other ($15) and The World in a Phrase: A Brief History of Aphorism ($9) at Book Depository. You can also visit his official site for updates on his research, pictures of his goldfish (no really, I think I’m in love) and general awesomeness. Try not to lick the screen.

Text Thursday: Newspaper Blackouts and giving up.

It’s a rough draft of a day.

Since semester ended I feel like my brain has just given up. Which I expected to some extent. But (in true ‘The Oatmeal‘ style) lately it’s just being an arsehole.

Brain: Oh you wanna spell that?

Me: Yes please, I need to put this word is some public place where it is likely that someone will judge my grasp of the English language based on this sentence.

Brain: Ha! No. No words for you.

Me: Oh come on, I use ‘definitely’ all the time!

Brain: No. No words for you. This week you can spell onomatopoeia, Macedonian,  and dysfunction but ‘fruit’, ‘definitely’ and the correct use of ‘stationery’ is out of the question.

Me: You’re ruining me.

Brain: Just for that, I’m taking your maths skills too.

Me: But I barely had any to begin with!

Brain: Let’s see how well you work without the ability to count.

Me: Fuck you.

Brain: Oh, and you’re afraid the cat is sick today.

Me: What?!

Brain: Yep, the cat’s going die and you’ve left the stove and the iron on. Your house is going to burn down. You’re fucked.

So I was going to word today. I was going to write and edit and have all the literary wordy-words reclining on the screen, being fed grapes from a vine and lightly caressing your eyeballs with a stanza or two. But apparently that’s not happening today, or this week. So instead I just tried to make words my friend, because I’m stubborn like that.

I don't even know.
I don’t even know.
Newspaper Blackout Poem (a la Austin Kleon). You can create your own and submit them here.
Newspaper Blackout Poem (à la Austin Kleon). You can create your own and submit them here. Even my pen doesn’t want to play today.

 Maybe a creaky little old draft

The house of the Nekorb,

made of human bones

has one-way windows

and bloodwood doors.

 

The house of the Nekorb,

rented by shadows,

has holes in the roof

and a couch made of stones.

 

There are no mirrors

no silverware, no mantles

no beds, no stairs,

no toilets or phones.

 

But the walls are lined with portraits,

there’s photographs in the hall,

the fridge is always full

and the heat is always on.

And the house itself is happy

and the ghouls don’t like to moan

the bats clean up their guano

and make my ribs their home.

Writerly Wednesday: Pablo Neruda

Short and Sweet: Pablo, Pablo! Excelente!

Pablo Neruda was a badass mofo the genius king of Chilean literature.

In what language does rain fall over tormented cities?

                                 – Pablo Neruda, The Book of Questions, courtesy of GoodReads.

Why is he is king? For me it’s because he wrote some of the best poems I’ve ever laid eyes on. For some of his best can be found here and here. Celebrated as one of the best poets of the 20th century, his passion for poetry alone is enough to turn you on get your creative soul humming.

He apparently sold all his possessions to fund his début work ‘Twilight’ (not a vampire story); one of his earlier works caused controversy because of its erotic content, he changed his name because his father disapproved of his passion, he was forced into exile for his political affiliations, and he was a full-time disgustingly brilliant genius poet by his early twenties. See? Total badass. What’s not to love?

Oh, and he won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1971, you know, small details.

To get more Neruda in your life, you can pick up a copy of The Essential Neruda: Selected Poems on Book Depository for around $14.

You can also find his interview with The Paris Review regarding his pen name, political aspirations (and disbelief at himself as a candidate for the Nobel Prize), Samuel Beckett, his writing practice, and much more here.

Love for This Book – Pablo Neruda, courtesy of AntiqueThings on YouTube.

There is also a conspiracy theory that Neruda didn’t die of heart failure but was murdered for his political beliefs, more about this theory can be found here.