The Magic Spoon

If one should take a meeting with the CEO and founder of the Streitenfeld group- and if One is Anyone, one likely will – one might notice a woman in the corner, with Snow White’s colouring and Audrey Hepburn’s style. Then again, one might not notice, because said woman is sitting still and quiet, no [...]

I’m working on my Red Hood, tonight. I found a lovely little girl’s coat, the softest fur you could imagine! It’s going to line the cloak’s edges, and the hood. I have always wanted a lovely hood, lined with scrumptious plush! If I have enough left over (as I am dearly hoping) I will be [...]

The needle flashed in the late afternoon light, shuttering up and down as Shulie’s hands moved the dark fabric under the machine’s foot with her hands.  The foot and needle both caught the light and glinted, while the black corduroy fabric seemed to swallow up the light. Black, black, black. All summer, Shulie had worn [...]

I wrote this as a song for 50/90, which is a really brilliant songmaking community that really deserves its own post. I worked on the song a good few days, only to realise that it really kinda stood on its own as a poem of sorts. I am no poet, but occasionlly even that doesn’t stop me.

Your swallowing motions tell me all I could possibly need to know. Won’t you come to the shore with me? I cannot imagine anything better, truly. I don’t think I should like anything so much as your love and approval. Failing that, your blood soaking the sand should do.

I have been reading. I curl up with my Scribner Anthology of Short Fiction. The stories are very good; Brokeback Mountain has always been my favourite. I flip through the book, find stories at random, eat and drink them. I suspect there are happy stories in the Scribner Anthology, but the ones I read are [...]

night at the end of august dusty road in dirty summer the sweaty path to the end of salad days and we grow sour too, over-ripe youth (fruit of love mashed between our hungry pearls) turn to wine, ferment and drop sweaty shoulders and first-kiss sour and sweet smoke for the finish

The Premise: “I want a bitter grl and a cheeky boy and a night with fireworks just after a dance in a decade when everyone thinks the world is about to end. “

Today was pretty awesome! Everything that was supposed to happen (mostly) did, there were no (significant) hiccups, and I feel a (huge) sense of accomplishment! The last day we worked on the viddy was Thursday. Da and Jim were there, and we got all of the Judge and some of the Sheriff. Today, bright and [...]

Last night, I had a dream. In it, Che appeared; he accused me of being Middle-Class with delusions of oppression. I hung my head but secretly sulked.

Mother’s day is tomorrow! The day when all of us remember those fantastic, horrifying, treacherous, baffling and unconditionally loving beasts we call our mums. Many people like to observe this day, many also like to send their mater a small gift or keepsake, to show appreciation for that whole birthin’ and raisin’ bit. Sadly, I [...]

“I could never hate you.” “You could. I could make you.” Yet finally, finally, his lips curled into a smile. It was a slow, heated smile; butter melting on hot toast, a square of sunlight through a window on a fall afternoon. With it his own godhood showed through the shell of this rascal, this [...]

Key to the ‘twitter pics’ riddle: the first two words are a homophone of a portmanteau. I thought it a good riddle with a chewy caramel heart in the middle that says ‘i love you’.

But then he had to grab her and swing her around the small dingy rooms in an awkward dance. And then he had to go and kiss her as if he liked her (really liked her!) and be an idiot and say adorable things. And that was far scarier than spending another night in the flop house on Granada and Two.

You know how…when things you’re really really looking forward to don’t work out because of some stupid little mix-up? 

How it just ruins your whole day? 

Then not only are you sad because of the thing not working out, but also how stupid the whole situation is, and then ALSO because you aren’t having a good day anymore?

It’s like that.

“What is the greatest evil?” he asked her one night, an hour before grey dawn. She pressed her lips tight, her black eyes inspected him. “To murder love.” she answered, voice even. “Heaven take me.” He moaned, face against his leather gloves. “I have done so. You have touched my sin; just so.” Avialle stood, [...]

He was sure he hadn’t loved her the first time. No…the first time had been curiosity – the second, confirmation. The third, political, the fourth and fifth routine. Before long their trysts were almost dull, but by then he’d gotten comfortable. When he finally said he didn’t love her, it felt like a lie. It was that, more than the blow, that laid him flat.

I haven’t actually done CSA personally yet, mostly because of circumstance. However, I can attest personally to how valuable it is to small farmers. Because it’s supporting them directly, the whimsy of the market is circumvented.

I had a professor that was so steeped in Politically Correct language that I really don’t even think he realised what he was doing sometimes, or how strange he sounded,: tying himself into verbal knots, working in all the with the latest nomenclatures that had gotten their fifteen-minute stamp of approval. Listening to him speak was like watching a contortionist, one that constantly modified every pose in case it deemed too suggestive. One wondered, in the end, how he didn’t end up too tangled to talk about anything at all.