Silver Spoons make giddy sounds

Silver spoons make giddy sounds
(after Kitchenette Building)

Money has a sick thumping sound, bass that makes the gums bleed, it’s witchcraft, it’s universally understood. Between us there is nothing. Then there’s the sculpture of capitalism – cash – say it – cash. A hushing sound. Rich jealousy chokes with a hideous purity. There is no self-control; tailored suits, Italian leather shoes, see a show, see seven, holiday in Europe, go to Moscow, snap pictures among the homeless, the heartbroken, ride the chained elephants in Bali, pat a tiger in India, photograph the natives, don’t recognise the absurdity of cigars for cigars sake. You don’t smoke but hate to seem uncultured – skinny bastard, each parent competing for love, the Xbox, the laptops, and the stupid red sports car. God! We’d die to have half the cash you ungrateful squandering ass, my god! Spare us the green eyes – my god, you disgust us. I’m thinking of buying a house in Sydney, nothing flash, just a renovator’s dream with high ceilings, a fireplace if I can. No brain for science or mathematics, lord knows we’ll die as tramps. Worlds away we’re just as ungrateful, but in this town we’re on the lower rung, it’s hard for us, it’s hard not to look at you with daddy’s silver spoon and hate your fucking guts.

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The Creek

Small and slender as a pencil, the snake coiled itself inside the canoe. I guess I’m not using that today. I take off the olive slip I’m wearing as a dress and edge into the dark water. Thighs, hips waist, breasts, neck. I take a breath and let the water cover my ears. I can hear the clicking of yabbies on the creek floor. My dress sways in the breeze. I swim slowly out to the rock, so as not to disturb the wombat on the creek bank. The breeze gathers momentum. Floating on my back, ears under the water, I hear the faint but distinctive rev of a two stroke motorbike. I dart around the creek bend and into the reeds, hoping my slip blends with the scenery. I wait for the sound to fade before slinking back to the bank. The wombat has retreated to his burrow, the snake has moved on. There is deep tyre mark where the water meets the bank. I creep to the tree that holds my slip.
It is gone.

Writer, in the afternoon.

Writer, in the afternoon.

(Crime and Punishment mash-up)

I know nothing of means and remedies. I know nothing of higher art. I mistake zeal for action for actual progress and I have uprooted any hope of changing myself. I rent my heart to words. I have never been more of a cliché than I am now. At 27, the dangerous year for artists and lovers.

I grow out of my prejudices and into new ones like a pair of leather boots. My mind clings to a superiority to overcome crippling inferiority to a universe too big for one woman to discover alone. I throw lovers off the scent. Love, it all looks rather improbable. My heart stuffs its pockets with you and I go on humming the tune that saves my life every damn time.

 

Table-Talk Tuesday: Fishing out the French and gettin down with old English men.

Ennui Remedies gets Nostalgic.

Today’s Table-Talk Tuesday is brought to you by the French. Specifically 13-16th Century french poetry forms. I know what you’re thinking, “that bastard’s tricked me into clicking her link again. This has nothing to do with boning old men”.Roundels & Rondeaus“. Ohmahgawd you’re right. You cultured little hipster you.

The Penguin Dictionary of Literary Terms & Literary Theory describes a Rondeau as  french, and totally cool before Swinburne liked it ironically¹. He is credited as ‘experimenting’ with the form in the 1880s, making it popular again¹, and by experimenting I mean mixed it up a bit and re-naming it a Roundel². Kinda like a 1883 version of The Black Eyed Peas.

Having said that, I like both versions (as well as another, similar form called the Rondel which is also worth checking out) and in 2008 I wrote a bunch of my own back when I thought end rhymes were better than sex.

First published in Five Bells vol. 15, No. 3, Winter 2008.
First published in Five Bells vol. 15, No. 3, Winter 2008.

I really love the sing-song nature of this type of lyric poetry. They’re short, like me which really suits my attention span makes them easy to remember and once you get the pattern right, they’re easy like your mum.

So if you’re interested in learning some new poetry forms, you should check out ShadowPoetry. They have a long list of different forms, from the popular Sonnet to not-so-popular Terzanelle.

You can pick up a copy of Penguin Dictionary of Literary Terms and Literary Theory on Amazon.com for around $12.

                                                                                                          

¹Cuddon, J,  1999, ‘Rondeau’ in Penguin Dictionary of Literary Terms and Literary Theory, Penguin Books, London, England,  p772.

²Cuddon, J,  1999, ‘Roundel’ in Penguin Dictionary of Literary Terms and Literary Theory, Penguin Books, London, England,  p773.

Table-Talk Tuesday: I am the god of a tiny world.

Welcome Gremlins!

To the interior corridors of my neurosis. To the land where the sweet little frogs of geometric fixation play nice with the rabid crocodiles of a hyperbolic aversion to rain. Or something.

This week I’m fixated with little things, and no, I’m not referring to your dad’s anatomy. Terrariums. Oh dear god. A fucking tiny garden encased in glass. It marries several of my favorite things.

1. Transparent things – (like glass, water, gin, and your father’s intentions).

2. Things so tiny that they’re hardly functional (except that – let’s be reasonable here).

3. Green.

4. Playing god.

So like some perverted cult leader, I’m going to show you how to make your own tiny world to lord over terrarium.

You will need:

1. Something to house your little world.
1. Something phallic to house your demonic little world.
2. Rocks for practical and decorative purposes.
2. Rocks for practical and decorative purposes.
3. Horse shit (stay with me - it's important).
3. Horse shit (stay with me – it’s important).
4. Dirt (or 'potting mix' if you're going to be a wanker about it).
4. Dirt (or ‘potting mix’ if you’re going to be a wanker about it).
5. Tiny plant/s to lord over.
5. Tiny plants to lord over.
6. A majestic animal friend to marvel at your power.
6. A majestic animal comrade to marvel at your power.

Step One

Locate a jar or little-world-receptacle of some kind. You should probably clean it out or something. Fill the bottom with some hell-pebbles.

This will form your underworld.
This will form your underworld.
Revel in your henchwoman's attentiveness. Have you been drinking?
Revel in your henchkitteh’s attentiveness. Have you been drinking kitteh?

Step Two

Crumble the horse shit into a thin layer over the pebbles, this is because I was too cheap to get any charcoal to stop it all looking like mud. Then throw delicately place in some dirt you stole from another pot plant potting mix.

This will form the juicy middle earth on which your tiny empire will thrive.
This will form the juicy middle earth on which your tiny empire will thrive.
Revel in your henchwoman's attentiveness.
Begin to doubt the sobriety of your sidekick.

Step Three

Choose your minions. I’ve heard that you should pick slaves that like it hot and wet. Since I didn’t have any plants that fit that description, I went with the only thing I did have mint and moss.

I can feel their fear already.
I can feel their fear already.

Step Four (optional)

Seal your tiny world.

Isolate your minions from outside influences.
Trap your minions to ‘keep them safe’ from the cat cruel universe.
Wat?
Wat? Go home kitteh you are drunk.

Step Five

Marvel at your creation. Let there be a lamp, look at it and feel confident that you nailed it. Ignore the gaps where you need to rely heavily on the suspension of disbelief in order to make sense of it all.

Marvel in your artistry.
Marvel in your lack of careful planning, ability to cut corners, artistry.
Ignore the doubt and rising distrust in you lieutenant's eyes.
Ignore the doubt and rising distrust in your lieutenant’s eyes.

Step Six

Isolate them from free thinking.
Isolate your tiny community from outside influences like free thinking.
Allow your collegue to sleep off their hangover.
Allow your colleague to sleep off their hangover.

 

Perhaps place them in a spot where they can see their freedom, but never actually reach it.
Perhaps place them in a spot where they can see their freedom, but never actually reach it.
Allow your second in command to resume their majesticness.
Encourage your second in command to resume their majestic-ness (she sobers up fast…)


Congratulations! You are now the god of a tiny world. Now you can sit back and let the minions thrive because you in no way did anything that could annihilate them. Nothing. Certainly none of these things. Your world looks incredible. So there is absolutely no need to compare it to any worlds other gods (like ApartmentTherapy) may have created that may seem for a moment more effective than yours (like these insanely amazing ones on Inhabitat).

For more info on how to be a god of your own tiny planet, you can pick up a copy of Tiny World Terrariums: A Step-by-Step Guide to Easily Contained Life from amazon for about $12.

Or if you have a short attention span like me, you could just watch the video below and learn how to create a terrarium that may actually survive on a larger scale.

Video courtesy of the Burke’s Backyard YouTube channel. You can also view the full facts sheet on the Burke’s Backyard website.

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.

Table-Talk Tuesday: Melbourne Noms and Hipster City Pictures.

More Melbourne: I ate things, I have pictures to prove it.

I ate stuff and this is what it looked like (isn’t that what all the cool kids do?):

I ate this for dinner here in Melbourne because I’m an adult damn it.
My friend (yes I have friends) had sprinkles. This is an important blog-worthy detail that I need to share with you all.
I also ate this. It was nice to my tongue and mouth. Important details (I’m still trying to kick dairy – sometimes I win, sometimes I lose).
I was so excited about eating a bunch of these because…
my usual dinner is this…
Banoffi Pie is too dark and I don’t have a flash on my shitty phone so I just filtered the shit out of it dark and tortured, because I’m an artist damn it.
I also tried to take a picture of it digesting but the lens kept fogging up (so, like, ironic). Clearly I fail as an artist.
Time Out. Home of hot indie men and good pie. But mostly hot indie men.
I don’t know what this is but I love it (that’s a lie, I tried to love it, we had a thing, but decided that ultimately we’re better off just being friends. Also I got a weird paint rash. Wot).