RECENT WORKS STILL IN THE MIX: 'A Study In Potato' 

 

This page reveals short stories I am currectly editing week to week. First Pass: Brown. Second Pass: Red. Third pass: Black

 

A Study in Potato

 

 

“You know what? It’s your dad’s 50^th birthday, and grandma M and grandpa S will be flying into town to celebrate by flying in and take us all out to eat,” Mom said while I was drawing one afternoon as she entered the bedroom.

“Oh really…the five of us?” I asked her as I continued to wisp my marker across the page.

“No, they want your uncle and his wife to join us too. We better set reservations NOW, like this very DAY, if we actually want to get IN there with our size group. I don’t think S and M realize how hard that place is to book,” she said, frowning.

“Well, I guess you better go get it all straightened out ahead of time.” I suggested, half listening, half annoyed as I had just started a new sketch and was having trouble with the design.

 

She was right, of course. His folks probably had no idea that in larger cities like Chicago, some places needed weeks of advance notice for a reservation, not days, and for a larger crowd, could make a simple call into a non-reservation in no time flat.

 

“I better go talk to your father,” she replied and trailed off into the other room.

“Okay,” I answered as I continued to sketch, happy to avoid that reality alltogether; another family event on the slab was something I would have preferred no not think about until the day before.

 

It was mid-October, and the days had been warmer than usual for the fall. 

 

A visit like this was somewhat surprising and, accompanied by a birthday dinner, completely unexpected. I almost wondered if it was bad news somehow disguised as a five-star meal.

 

I mean, his folks weren’t KNOWN to do anything unusual like dropping shoes, but flying in to celebrate was kind of out-of-nowhere to begin with, let alone extended family flying also in... and then at this new modern experimental place downtown...What were they serving there again?

 

I began to wonder, and soured at the thought of some bizarre platter with squid and beets, or greasy sausages drizzled in designer sauces, all zigged-zagged across the top- which were typical of many new, fine dining spots on the Chicagoland scene in the late 1980's.

 

Did I really want to sit through all that mystery? Not really.

I was already knee-deep in an autumn daze of Led Zeppelin and artwork and homework, and would have preferred to chill in my room, with the place all to myself instead- and if it includes a walk to the beach before dark? Yep, that was my idea of better than family dinners at fifteen.

 

And this birthday celebration- I didn’t really want to go to this, but did I HAVE to go? It sounded like a real effort to get reservations, with a bunch of pretentiousness to boot.

"I guess I kinda HAVE to, if EVERYONE is going..." I thought to myself, "Well, at least it will have appetizers and salads... and probably chocolate cake or something", still sketching away on my larger sketchpad, with a bright aqua conte crayon.

 

Mom popped in an hour later:

 

“We got reservations for three weeks from now. At first there didn’t seem to be room for a seven person table, but then we explained we wanted an EARLIER reservation and there was no problem” Mom said, sounding somewhat exasperated.

“Oh really, why is that?” 

“I think it’s because they have less table space available on the weekends during peak dinner hours, since it’s a small dining room to begin with” she explained.

“Ah..” I replied, half listening to the details.

“Yes, so I want you to look through your closet and consider what you're wearing, and what you might need? Do you have any stockings?” she asked as she opened the closet door to see what I had in supply.

A full closet on first sight, but any formalwear would have to be dug out through the layers of velvet, fringe and goth gear.

“Why would I have THAT?” I asked with a look of disgust. I was never a heels-and-tights kind of a girl to begin with, and even less so in my arty teen years, so to ask me the question felt more like a put down than ask.

“It sounds like we will need that, and what about shoes? Where are those black flats?” she asked, digging into the dark corners.

“They're back there somewhere."

“Do they still fit, or..?”

“Yeah, I THINK they do.” I was not looking forward to finding out.

“Fine, so let’s see what you have to wear.” She look at the long row of clothes all blending into one black sea fabric and began flipping through it.

“I can just wear that black dress with the lace and flowers." I had worn it in the past and was hoping it would pass todays inspection too, feeling annoyed that we were doing this right away and with a whole two-plus weeks to figure it out, I didn't see why the chore couldn't wait.

“You mean that thin cotton one?" Mom asked as she looked at a navy jumpsuit hanging lazily on the white plastic hanger. "Isn’t it damaged?”.

“Just on the underside, in one part. I can sew it” I said confidently.

"Hm," she sang, unconvinced.

 

The more I thought about dressing up for this thing, the more I didn’t want to go. I already knew it would probably be a very typical family gathering thing, and I didn’t have the slightest interest in being forced to prepare for it by waking up early next Saturday, hunting out some dress that I would probably wear once, and end up taking space in my already packed closet.

 

Plus, those damn Sunday wakeups! I was never an early riser, but the schedule never changed:  Eight am wakeup with a nine am breakfast, and already shopping by ten.

But I was barely in my body by ten am, let alone hungry by nine,  and god knows my parents weren’t sleeping past nine on the weekend- THEY started  most workdays at six am, making eight am the ‘late sleep-in’ hour… and absolute nightmare to an owl like me.

 

'Jesus Christ. She's not finding shit in that closet, and it looks like my next weekend is done for.' I thought to myself.

 

I just didn’t want to dress up, no matter how I sliced it, no matter how I served up the idea of a great meal, I knew that I would have to pay for the privledge, and sacrfice next Sunday, spent out-of-body, at 8am dodging potholes on the way to the Burlington Coat Factory to hunt for a good deal.     

 

I imagined myself wearing some embroidered jeans and popping out last minute right before we dash out the door, but in doing that, I would have never heard the end of it from the entire clan, or perhaps not even allowed in- due to dress code.

 

That clan.

There were some pretty clear events that seemed to happen on the regular with my stepdad's family, and I was tired of the rituals, the repeating patterns of conversation and vibe, over and over.

I was exhausted just thinking about it, no matter the amount of stars in my dinner, I just didn’t want to see it, eat it, or be there.

 

I didn’t want to see my grandma throw all the rolls from the bread basket into her purse as she had been known to do. That’s right, she would just pop ‘em in there, since they were ‘free’.

It was a leftover habit from her early days during the depression, and she just couldn't shake the habit. She would pilfer so fast, you would wonder if she had done it at all. But sure enough, when we got home her big lime green and pink psychedelic purse would reveal the goods, and that she had, in fact taken the opportunity to stock up for her own dinners at home....and now I could only imagine how this would go down at the new hot spot that had just opened up six months ago.

 

Would she use the same tacky purse as she did in the classic summer heists? And how would she get them through check-in at the flight gate?  Mostly though, if she had to decline her clever roll caper due to logistics, how would she react watching those bread rolls get whooshed off the table without a single pay-off? Would she just smile and hold it all in, or look upset? I really started to consider it.

 

And the other one. Grandpa S. I didn’t want to have to see my grandpa snap a gasket as he normally did every time we went out.

 

Without fail, he would stress about some minor detail, then get all snarky about it. Like ‘which way to get to the restaurant’, or ‘the best time to leave’ to arrive on time, or why he cant move the table exactly where he wants it, or exactly which ‘side options’ were available with his dinner order. All four experiences were guaranteed on the menu- it was just a matter of sequence:

 

First was ‘the thing’. That would be his fixated stressor that let evyrone know there was a problem even if no one could see it.

Then came ‘throw-a-fit-of-confusion’ since no one could decipher his cues as to what 'the thing' was.

Then naturally, he would get confronted about it, and after a long hem ‘n’ haw with long winded back and forths, would simmer down to a stronger appetite than he had BEFORE the whole ordeal. Without fail, he would set up shop time and time again. Knife in one hand, scotch in the other, the whole family wide-eyed with anticipation for his next regular.

Same as it ever was.

 

I stopped sketching for a moment, and reflected on dynamics.

I mean, after all these years of always visiting them at THEIR house in upperstate New York, how might these two behave at a place out of their element and on completely unfamiliar terms? Would the normal quirks play out? Or would there be a snap-to sense of civility saved for special occasion when on unfamilair grounds?

I really wanted to know.

 

But that sort of curiosity didn’t outweigh a Sunday morning sleep-in, and if something in that closet wasn’t fancy enough to attend by my mothers standards, it was reason enough to not go at all by mine, especially if a whole ass closet full of textiles that never pilfered condiments wasn't good enough.

 

You see, by this point, I was quite uninterested in acceptable or impressive appearances; I found superficiality all around me; from the Polo-wearing yuppies attending Ravinia with their pet rocks in their Audis, to the mall queens armed with nothing but plastic squares and a drop-top beamer to hold all the bags. This was the late eighties, and excess reigned supreme.

 

I was more than happy to compromise by wearing a dress, but going out of my way for what was sure to be a headache would not be happening without protest and she knew it:

 

“Fine. If that’s what you want to wear. I have some necklaces that might look nice with it. We could take a look after we get dressed the day of,” she replied, seemingly satisfied.

“Okay,” I answered, as I signed my latest sketch in the lower right hand corner.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But It’s New

 

I saw my friend the next day at school, across the street from the front doors. It was the non-offical, official smoking area, and she was standing there, smoking a marlboro red like always.

“Hey” K said, as she blew a big waft of smoke in front of her white wispy hair and deep black velvet jumpsuit, making a grey haze in front of both.

“Hey” I replied.

“Did you finish that assignment?” she asked me.

“No” I said.

“Why not?” she looked and me, and frowned.

“Because it sounds stupid,” I replied matter-of-factly.

“Well, you better finish it, or they will grade you down” she stated coldly with a raised eyebrow.

“So” I stated, as I lit I cigarette.

“So that means you FAIL THE COURSE-You don’t want to fail the whole course over ONR ASSIGNMENT,” she explained and took another drag.

“That’s true."

 

She was right of course, and I thought about it for a moment- if I would haul ass before the class began. I was early enough to try and do so, but was hellbent on finishing my mornging ciggy without a worry first.

 

See, I had a very specific high school plan at that point in time: to pass all of my classes, but by doing the very least amount of work- and with every facility at my disposal to do so, it was an interesting challenge put before me as I entered freshman year, and soon met K. 

 

I had definitely found my scholarly goals more refreshing than my elders view of what school served and the 500 pounds of books that was loaded on us every year as the semester began. Yet somehow, surfing the dredges of low grade point averages still held SOME responsibility, and THAT included actually passing classes.

 

After all, not many students chose the treacherous path of mainting one of the lowest  gradpoints in my class while simulatnsously recieving the highest marks in my preferred courses ( usually art classes). It was a tricky a balance.

 

I took another puff on my square, which was utterly dissastisfying, and grabbed the book out of my backpack while flipping through the chapters hurrdely. I began scrawling guesses on the homework sheet.

I mean, I knew ANY answer at all was better than none, and was sure to get me SOME credit.

All I really had to do was make some coherent sense of what I was scribbling on the faded xerox sheet.

 

Ding!

 

“You got like, 10 minutes. Do you think you can finish it?” K asked me with curiosity.

“Maybe. Did I tell you? My grandparents are flying into town.” 

“Why?” She knew they never visited, and it was just as much a wonder to her as it was me.

“I don’t know, but they want to take my dad out for his birthday, and we're going to go to some fancy restaurant downtown. I have to go."

“Oh, that’s cool."

“No it’s not- those people suck,” I said feeling under-the-crunch and rather annoyed, as I dotted the ‘i’ on the crumpled page.

“Yeah, but it’s probably going to be a nice place, isn’t it?”

“Oh, probably,” I conceded.

“And when are you going?”

“I think it’s on a Sunday.” 

“Well, that’s cool..at least it’s not on a Friday, or some shit” she said dryly. She always held a pragmatic bright side that surprised me.

“That’s true, but I hate formal dress-ups, having to sit there for fucking hours: no smoke break- and with those people...fucking yuck” I complained.

“Then don’t go” she suggested, and took a drag of her cigarette.

“I can’t- my mom already set the reservation, and it’s some monster effort deal she had to make with the guy on the phone, they’de be super pissed if blew it off” I replied.

“Oh...that’s sucks.” 

“Yeah,”  I sighed while flicking the ash off of my forgotten cigarrette, fingers racing through the pages of the book.

“Well who knows, maybe the food will be really good,” she smiled and dropped her cig by the tree stump.

“That’s true. It’s some new, experimental place. Some sort of modern restaurant that people are saying is crazy to charge what they are charging. And they say the food is fuckin' weird.”

“What the fuck is 'weird food'? That’s sounds totally strange, and also like a big rip off,” she  andbegan laughing and lit another cigarette.

 

Mornings at the high school were like that; where you had to double puff before the longer smoke-free sessions began inside, and although there were four cafeterias at the school, one of which had designated a smoking area, it was way the hell over on the other side of the building and a complete inconvenience to reaching classes easily.

 

No one, and I mean no one was bothering with the long walk. Even the grown-ass teachers and staff stood across the street, getting their nic fit fix all squared away before math class, or whatever. I was just grateful that K always seemed to be there, ready to lend me a ear... and a smoke when I needed it.

 

“I know," I answered, "So, it’s some bougie place with fucked up food, and I gotta get in hose for this shit, with no smokes, and sit there with that bunch of people,” I complained, writing my name on the top right corner of the answer sheet.

“Yeah, that really does sound shitty” she agreed, and began to look into the distance, spotting a mutual friend of ours.

 

Ding!

 

“Sounds like you have five minutes left“ K announced.

“Yeah., I’m almost done,”  I answered with half the answers already filled out, and really felt I might be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Table for One

 

So the big night finally arrived and I was dressed in no time, having found a gold chain from Mom’s collection easily and was sitting on the antique chair with the stiff oval backing in the livingroom, pretty much ready to get back before we even left.

I could hear both mom and dad running around, grabbing various objects, in heavy heels on the wooden floor.

>clop clop clop<

“Are you sure they know how to get there?” mom asked.

“Yeah, I called them twice- they are taking a cab from the hotel, and they are staying 3 blocks away, it shouldn’t be a problem, sweety. Which coat do you think looks better?” he replied, holding up a couple of various tweeds.

Mom looked with a pensive face. “Hmm...This one looks better with the colors you have on, I think” she concluded as she deaped the coat over his shoulder and tilted her head.

Dad turned around to look in the mottled closet door mirror. “I agree.Okay, let’s go! Li?"

He looked in to the livingroom. "Are you ready?”

“Yeah” I replied, feeling somewhat lethargic.

“Are you looking forward to tonight?” he asked me with a smile, and raised brows.

“Sure” I said reassuringly, I mean I wasn't trying to ruin his big night and he seemed to have a better outlook than I did.

“It probably won’t be TOO long of a wait- it’s a very busy place, you know, they have other reservations right after us” he sais, seeing that I was les than exhuberant.

“Cool." I perked up, ‘cuz I was actually really happy to hear that.

 

That we wouldn’t have to listen to Grandpa S chat on and on about problems with the meal, which were really unproblematic, while sipping on after-dinner drinks, as Grandma wrapped up the event with a last minute heist of ketchup/sugar packets:

 

“Excuse me honey, there’s no sugar, be a doll, and refill these? Mhmm? Thank- you” M would say to the passing waitress already carrying a shitload of platters, and plop it on top of an already daunting balancing act, and then casually turn her attention back to the conversation at hand, with a confused looking waiter in the backdrop just happy as hell to get off the floor without a dish dropped.

 

“So, what kind of food do they have there?” I asked him, as we waited for mom in the livingroom.

“You know Li, I really don’t know, but from the sounds of it, the menu can change nightly” he said.

“Really? Like whole new dishes?” 

“Yep, that’s what I hear, so no one’s having the same dining experience there, it’s very progressive” he said with a hopful face.

“That’s fuckin weird” I said dryly.

“Yeah, well this place is all very new, and I hear the food is excellent. You will have a good time there, Li, this should be fun, I’m glad we got in.”

 

“Cool! Sound Fun!” I replied emphatically. I mean, I didn’t want to go, but it was the guys birthday, and seeing my happy face with an eager soul was probably the best gift he was getting after 50 years, seeing as how they weren't really into gift exchange on the big days to begin with.

“All set?” mom asked us as she stepped in flowing with soft brown curls, and pungent high end parfume.

“Sure, Yep” dad replied, as he got up to go.

 

And off we went, arriving right on time, and saw the others inside:

 

“Hi, yeah, we just got here too” said uncle L, as hugs began and greetings were exchanged.

“He has really good timing” mom said to everyone, as she took off her coat, and handed it to coat attendant.

“Hi Li” my aunt S said to me with a smile. She was a thin blonde with bright red lipstick and sparkly blue eyes.

“Hey S.”

“Hi Li,” my uncle L cut in, “How have you been? It’s good to see you."

“Yep. Where are we sitting?” I asked him.

“You know I’m really not sure… I think they are getting the tables together now.”  he trailed off to look at two waiters dragging tables together and moving utensils around.

 

“Hello,” began a man in a crisp suit.

 

No one heard him.

 

“HELLO there, Good EVENING, I am G, and will be guiding you along your journey this evening. How many of you will there be?” he asked in an airy French accent, and waited for someone to reply.

 

He was a slender man with longer brown hair, which was slicked back into neatly combed layers of gel thickened highlights. And as he stood there, tall as a tree, in his long black suit, blinking and staring blankly,  I began to wonder who the hell he was…..I mean, he wasn’t the host, or the coat check girl..he wasn’t the bartender or a busboy..was he our WAITER?

 

Whoever he was, he was beginning to look annoyed at the lack of communication.

“Uh, yes..Hi there.” Dad pushed through the talkers and approached him. “This is a table for seven, under L J or R J.”

“Let me look and see,” said G, and whisked away in a flash.

My mother frowned, and whispered to my dad.

“Well, he said he has to check it, maybe he needs to confirm the size,” he whispered quietly, looking a bit unsure.

“Well, they said it was ok when I called," her voice grew louder.

“Let’s see what he says first,” he replied gently, and kissed her on the cheek.

 

'Oh great. Now we have to see if were BOOKED? Oh jesus, I hope ole gramps don't catch wind' I thought to myself, and looked over, noticing grampa S happily engaged with his son L and his wife S, as they sat around a small cocktail table, by the glassy bar,

 

G eventually reappeared, his hard pointy shoes jutting out like hands of a clock, and announced “Everything looks to be in order. Your table will be created and ready in about ten?” he paused to look at another waitstaff standing next to him, “EIGHT minutes. Please enjoy,” gesturing  to the cocktails in everyones hands.

 

'I wonder if he's serious about those eight minutes. Holy shit, what sort of place is this?' I asked myself as I started looking around for a clock. Then I noticed one. a massive three foot clock hanging along the far wall by the kitchen doors.

 

Sure enough, he returned exactly eight minutes later and we were chaperoned into the dining room. The room glowed with soft pastel peach walls and delicate gold accented corbels swirling above.  As I looked up, I saw a gracseful chandelier hanging above, in gold swerving arms, and white petal lampshades on its ends.

‘Hm, it's like I just walked through the gates of heaven,’ I smirked and sat down in a soft, velvet chair.

“I need to sit over HERE,” announced S, as he pointed to the plush booth seating along the wall.

"Of course Sir, your comfort is key to our destination,” G sang gallantly, then gestured to the others to remove the chair and toggle the tables closer to the booth.

 

Of course G didn’t REALLY know why he needed to sit there, but everyone else did, and it had very little to do with S’s comfort and everything to do with his eyesight. S liked to sit closest to the kitchen no matter where we went, making that one hawkeye spot the natural choice. And like the nighttime predator that he was, he liked to clock the waiters and watch the dishes as they came out, oftentimes commenting on platters that looked scrummy and regretting not ordering it instead.

 

Ironically, this restaurant had two independent doors into the kitchen on opposite sides of the room, and S took notice of that fact right AFTER he sat down:

 

“Oh! Oh,” he said all blustered and surprised ”There are TWO doors into the kitchen I see.”

“That’s right dad, isn’t it GREAT?” pops said happily as he sat down across from him with a wide smile. He was clearly the birthday boy, and he intended to enjoy every privilege that title afforded him.

 

Grandma M began to look around the table with a frown.

‘Let me guess,' I laughed to myself, 'no condiments for her to snatch?’ totally clocking what she was seaching for. But then she asked about the forks.

“Did they forget to clear a setting? Why are there two sets of forks here? Does this belong to you?” M asked S.

“It’s two sets M, we all have it” reponded S indifferently.

“Okay..I was just making sure..” she trailed off.

'Fuckin' liar,' I smirked.

 

G presented himself once more, this time with a fleet of austere busboys who hurriedly distributed tall menus the size of suitcases and began:

“We have a very special selection for you this evening. Chef has created an inspirational series of dishes built around an early harvest of Provençal sprigs picked at first light this morning—"

“Is that on ALL the dishes?” S interrupted.

 

I didn’t blame him for asking. What the hell did Provençal mean coming from the city of Chicago? And what exactly was it supossed to taste like?The El? Even I was beginning to sour on this guy's pitch.

G stood there somewhat stunned, and flouncing with how to respond.

“Sir, we have a select menu here. One that is designed with complete satisfaction to your dining experience—“ G began.

 

“Okay, good. Because I will have a steak.” S folded his menu and handed it to him.

 

G looked aghast as his head twitched slightly. His slicked-back brown locks had slipped over his thin-rimmed glasses. “Sir, Chef was not guided toward steak for this evening's journey. However, if you look at the menu, you will see the design Chef has created for you tonight."

S was clearly testing his patience, but you could tell G had served this up before and knew exactly how to respond to silly questions like this one.

 

“What do you mean you don’t serve steak?” S began. “You don’t serve meat, or what?” he asked, visibly annoyed.

 

G looked down at S over the rim of his glasses with a rigid jaw, and took a deep breath. “If you would look over the menu, you will see we have a large variety of options available for this evening. Keep in mind, this is a SELECT arrangement that Chef has chosen to create for the season.”

 

I looked at the menu briefly, and noticed the À la carte list:

 

Braised Goose

Marinated Prawns in Light Fennel

Lobster Tail

Island Salmon with Ginger Blossoms

Roasted Beef Tips in Marionnaud sauce

 

'Hm. Those all sound kinda gross,' I thought to myself. I mean, I was a typical junk-food-loving teenager happy with fries and nachos. I didn’t want to eat onions with pheasant OR braised prawns with crapsauce. Plus, at that point in time I was somewhat on the vegan spectrum, dancing with the idea of removing animal product entirely, all with an ascetic lifestyle chaser and a roll-your-own ciggy on the side. Tonight's mindbenders didn't look to be different than any other dinner. 

 

G handed the menu back to grandpa S. "Here you are Sir, If you look here, you will see that Chef does indeed add a note of beef to the menu, and I do recommend you try it."

 

"Hm," grandpa S grumbled.

 

All this talk about food was making me hungry, and with my last meal being a couple slices of toast with a coffee at breakfast, I was ready to dive in. But into what exactly? 

 

The lettering was beautifully presented. A swirly list of words floating gracfully in the center of an ocean of creamy paper. But I wasn't seeing a sides list. And now that I looked at it, there was no salad options mentioned either.

 

“Damn. I’m shit outta luck” I said to myself.

“What's that?” asked my uncle L who was seated next to me,and leaned over to hear me say it again.

“Oh nothing, It’s just that it all looks like meat dishes, and I wanted something else.” 

 

L was just the right guy to mention this to, since he himself was a self-described vegetarian, although he still ate fish and I wondered what he might choose.

“Not all of it, the special isn’t, I don’t think,” he said, as he looked back at his menu.

I turned the page and saw four small words in the center:

 

‘A Study In Potato’

 

“What the fuck does THAT mean?” I smiled to myself, “ Oh yeah, that’s the one. I’m DEFINITELY getting THIS”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s Simply Not Done

 

 

Everyone seemed ready to order, and after a lot of back-and-forth between where's-the-steak S, and look-at-the-choices G, they both seemed to compromise on beef tips, but with no Marrionnaud.

 

Uncle L was just ducky with the Salmon, not opting to join me in a vegetable crusade this particular time around.

‘….And THAT’S why were MOSTLY vegetarian,’ I thought to myself. "Yeah, L got it right. That’s a smart way navigate.' as G turned his attentions towards me:

 

“And mademoiselle, what is YOUR selection?” he asked with raised brows, ready to get the order in, and the rest of us fork deep into a voyage we couldn't forget:

 

“I’ll try ‘The Study in Potato’” I said with a smile, and handed G the menu.

“Oh, no no- the choices are from the A la carte,” G explained.

“Yep, and I want ‘The Study in Potato' on the next page."

“You can’t choose that” G replied with a subtle look of dissaproval.

“Why can’t she? It’s on the menu, isn’t it?” Dad cut in.

G looked over at him, ready to set a limit. “You have all chosen tonight's adventure from the A La Carte selection and she is looking at the eight course design.”

“So?” he countered.

“So, the table has chosen A La Carte-" G began.

“What’s the matter?” grandpa S asked, turning his attention away from the busboys racing through both kitchen doors, and looked at pops for an explanation.

 

Dad started to interpret, as mom spoke up. “Well, her portions can certainly be served alongside our appetizers, and salads..” she stated in a calm manner.

'Wait, There are salads with the A La Carte??' I thought ot myself, wishing I had known sooner.

“We could bring out SOME dishes” G reasoned, “…but 'TheStudy in Potato' is an eight course meal, three presentations would hardly be sufficient..”.

“What? What does he mean ‘she cant order it’- it's on the MENU, isn’t IT?!” Grandpa Snappy now got the whole story, and started raising his voice. People at the neighboring tables peered over.

 

Oh right- those neighboring tables. Dressed up couples on all sides, and the ones near Grandpa S did NOT look pleased. But what about the ones near me? I looked to my right:

 

Some preppy twenty-year old brunnette, with perfectly layered wisps of hair floating gently around a thin light blue ribbon, resting around a dainty bow hanging sweetly on one side of her head. It matched her light blue sweater spot-on, and I wondered if they came together. 

'What store sells THAT?' I smirked, "Or did she go out of her way to color match that shit at the fabric store? I mean, what kind of headset do you have wrapped around to be down with ribbon and sweater matching?'

 

I looked at her date; a young man who seemed frozen like a statue in khakis, and a button down, staring directly at her while no one spoke.

 

'Hm, well at least THOSE two don’t look pissy about the drama. I wonder if they are on a first date or something? God, just imagine coming HERE for your first date, like WHY?” I cringed as G sliced into my train of thought.

 

“SO, another selection would be more agreeable to the flow of the dinner, the timing you see” he said gently as grandpa S stared at him waiting for more to fuel him, but decided to cut it off right there:

 

“It’s on the menu ISN"T IT? Why would you put something on the MENU, and say it isn’t OFFERED?! What kind of a place is THIS?!  She wants the ‘Study in Potato’, and she can order anything she wants!” S barked.

‘Oh jesus, here we go’  I thought to myself.

“Here,” I motioned to the group, “Just pass me the menu, let me look at the A la Carte again”. I put my hand out, gesturing for the gigantic bed-sheet sized menu to reappear. I mean, fuck, why didn't they just write 'salad included' in there? There was only a mile of blank space to do so, and I wasn't interested in creating drama over fucking potatos.

“I can just tell you what they are, since it's only 5 dishes Li” uncle L said.

“Sure, thanks L,” I replied, wondering if he wasn't just adding more fuel to the fire.

“S, she’s decided to choose from the A La Carte, it’s no problem” my mom joined in.

But S and G were knee deep in negotiations, with no extra earspace to hear all THAT noise.

 

“FINE!” G finally relented,  “But, you must understand, the dishes will NOT be served harmoniously or succinctly because of the breaking up of presentations in this way-”

“-I don’t care what it does, if it’s ON THE MENU, she get’s to CHOOSE IT!” S's face was turning red.

“Very well”, G replied with a sour look, and with a wave of his magic hand, the busboys vanished through the two kitchen doors.

 

‘Holy shit, Gramps came through for me’ I thought. “Well, THAT was unexpected."

"Right?" L whispered and laughed.

 

I mean, I was just going to order something else if potatos was ‘off limits’ according to G’s world, and not cause a scene over it. But apparently it wasn’t according to grandpa S’s, and for once his regular freak-a-thon was completely effective and manifested tasty results for his efforts.

 

 ‘Hm. Yep,  this is DEFINITELY feeling like the beginning to a very different kind of family gathering' I thought to myself and considered a beverage.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It Came In Colors

 

'I wonder if they have plain old soda? God knows what sort of heart attack G might have if I requested a Sprite, and they don’t have it. I just don’t think I can take another round of the dinner battles, especially with grandpa S on standby- and from the looks of that menu, they probably have weird shit instead, like orange blossom cream, or vanilla bean and kelp, or something else just as equally gross that I would end up hating…

 

I wonder if they have anything regular AT ALL?' I considered it moment.

'Actually, now that I think about it, I wonder where the closest place to a regular soda actually IS? Maybe a vending machine in that laundromat down the street? Do I have any quarters on me to go get one?' I began to sound reel all the variables more pissed off that I didn't have a means for escape, or an orange crush at a four star.

 

I mean, I really wanted know; What kind of a strange ass place did these people take me to where I might have to go hunt for a soda down the street? I started to look outside, and saw myself walking out the door.

I knew my mother would come running after me, thinking it was some sort of emergency and drag me back to the table.

“You know, fuck it.” I relented, 'It’s a birthday, right? Where’s the list?'

I knew there was a wine list floating around the table somewhere, and decided it was time to just conform to the ‘serving suggestions’, and pick from the choices, like everyone else was doing.

 

I soon saw a list for drinks I had never heard of, with names I couldn't pronounce. 'Of course, more crazy shit. I guess it's just ice water for me.' But then I glanced at the the very end of the list. One word I understood and I said right on cue.

“Miss, your drink?” a short, stout man with a puffy mustache asked me.

“Sure, I’ll have the champagne” I smiled.

“Thank you” he replied, as he scibbled something down on his hand and vanished.

 

“So Li,” Uncle L began, “Have you been here before?"

"Uh, no" I replied dryly. Why would he asl me that? Does he think that I own a sweater and ribbon set too?

“You ended up getting the 8 course meal? Is that what happened?” he asked with an impish smile.

“I mean, yeah, that was the one I wanted, but anything would have been okay” I admitted.

"Are you excited to be here? We just got into town this afternoon" L changed the subject.

"That’s right. Into O’hare, right?" I asked him.

"Yeah, it was really busy-" L's eyes got all wide. 

“-But we managed to find our hotel in downtown easily” his wife S interjected with a giddy laugh.

"Oh, okay, cool" I responded, already bored as fuck, and have wishing I could outside have a square instead.

 

Soon the waiter came back with a platter full of slushing glass shapes, yet not a drop spilled as miine landed on the white table cloth.

 

A tall, fluted glass with ruby-colored fizzing bubbles, zig-zagging their way to the brim, lifting off a single white sugar cube.

“Sweety, what did you order to drink?" Mom asked me.

“Well, I didn’t see sodas, so I just ordered what was from the list” I said, unsure of what would happen next.

“A champagne?” she asked.

“Yeah.” 

“But you don’t like alcohol” she stated.

 

And it was true. I never liked the stuff. Not in any form, or any amount.

Sure, I had consumed it here or there, like in a fruit salad when I was a toddler ( and that is a whole other story), or in a bananas foster on special occasion, but I normally winced when the kiddush cup got passed my way on Friday nights and just hated cough syrups laced with it. Even when Dad added vermouth to his all-day-cook-a-thon spaghetti sauces, I just cringed at the smell:

 

“Now this is how ya do it, Li,” he would tell me as the noxious liquid would go splashing in, “You start out with beef and onions, and olive oil. You let that cook for a bit, then you add THIS.", He would raise the bottle up high as he splooshed instruction all around.

 

“Okay, but that seems like an aweful lot of it” I would tell him as the bottle poured forth furiously, spinning round and round the green glass neck, and spraying onto the bubbling meat.

“Oh no, that’s the thing: you can’t go wrong with more of this stuff- it really makes the flavor" he would reassure me as it seeped in.

“Well, it smells gross.”

“All that cooks out, Li,” he would laugh.

 

I never believed him but sure enough, the sauce never would reveal a hint of nasty.

 

But here I was, now at this highly praised restaurant, with not a soda can for miles and surely the entire adult population can’t be wrong about the stuff. I mean, there were bars in all the restaurants, not to mention the stands like at Bluesfest or even the classic standard prom punchbowl. I hadn't never thought about it until this very moment, here, at the family dinner, eating fucked up shit with no-nonsense plastic sheers riding up my ass.

 

“It was the only thing I recognized on the menu” I explained.

“I see. Well, considering it’s your father's birthday, having one on the table is fine, but drink water with it." she added.

“Sure” I smiled, picked up the glass up, and brought the substance to my lips.

The bubbles popped inside my nostriles as I accidentally inhaled them up my nose. >cough<

“Hm. Kinda fruity” I thought to myself as the cold, tart liquid hit the center of my tongue and melted down my throat. I could feel it pouring through my insides and then hitting my stomach with a warm landing, and then, >burp<

 

"Excuse me” I said quietly.

 

I looked into the glass. It was like a small world where sea monkeys might live. Happy bubbles drifting skyward through the long stemmed flute with soft flowy lines creeping up the base, and into the main chamber where a dissolving sugar cube kept their civilization powered with life.

“I didn’t know they made red champagne, wow, ” I exclaimed.

“They don’t. They put colors in as a decorative touch," my mother interjected before turning her attention back to the conversation at hand.

“Oh” I grinned, and had another sip.

 

I turned back to my little universe, watching the sugar cube glitter against peach walls peering through the glass:

 

'I never thought about that, adding colors to what your drinking-that’s cool. It’s sorta like strawberry crush, but not as dayglo,' I reasoned. 'I wonder why they chose red for this? Everything here seems meticulously catered and planned out, what does red mean?'

 

I took a large gulp, my stomach warm and tongue well numbed by the racing bubbles that had carried away any traces of alchohol. 'Actually, this is a lot like soda, just without the sugar.' I took another sip and got hit with dissolved sugar granules by surprise. 

 

I watched everyone at my table engaged in how-you-been chatter, catching up on whatever, then started to look around the room. It was full of people but you would have never have known it. There was somethere there, in betwen the tables that felt like like insulation. Insulation of sound and space, like a hidden cloth napkin enveloping each group, making it devoid of any connection at all.

 

My head lifted with a gentle sway as I set my sights on sweater set and her date sitting in the corner tuck, a row ahead of me, at a booth table.

 

He was talking about something that had her fully engaged, yet he didn’t seem to move a muscle. Like a mannequin in a Brookes Brothers store front window, he didn't seem to say a word.

She, was almost as still, except for the slightest passing smiles that would let you know she wasn’t ACTUALLY frozen, but receiving some sort of understanding.

 

“I wonder what is holding her attention so fully?” I thought to myself, “Like, what the fuck could this guy be talking about that would hold someone so fully? What. Did someone die? Or, wait- maybe a proposal? That would explain the sweater set.”

 

I waited to see how she might respond after he was done pseudo-speaking, but the moment never came.

Even after a solid five minutes.

 

'That’s odd,' I thought to myself, 'She’s not really responding at all.' And she wasn't. She just remained bright eyed, fully engrossed in whatever the hell he was relaying, sitting upright as if she had a front row seat to color film for the first time.

 

'Wait a minute, that guy isn't speaking, is he?' I didn't have a good angle, and being two rows away with his back to me made it hard to see anyway.

 

I leaned over to my left slightly, to gain a better view and inspect the situation closer:

 

Yep, he was still rigid in his plaid button up with his jaw line moving, and she was glued to it. Every word seem to absorbed her deeper than the last,  as if she had left her body and was drawing closer to him through the table itself.

 

'What could this guy possibly be going on about? Like, how can you talk that much without looking for some sort of feedback from the person listening?' I really wanted to know and took a swig of cold ice water while wishing he had sat in HER chair instead; she was getting boring to watch, and I would have preferred to mouthread his words instead of getting smacked with dolly date's plasticine smile.

 

"That's so fuckin' strange. I wonder if he ALWAYS talks like that when they go out?  I wonder if she chose that spot ON PURPOSE, making him face her alone? I guess she didn't want him distracted from all that blabbering. Jesus Christ.'

 

Moments passed, and nothing had changed. Except for the room, which gently bobbed up and down in a frothy peach haze behind my sparkling world which was now just a small pond with a snowy hilltop of sugar that had finally melted into the bottom of the glass.

 

'Is she just gonna sit there, and listen to him ramble on and on like that all night? Holy shit. SAY SOMETHING ALREADY, DAMN!' I took another sip, this one even sweeter than the last.

 

Now I was determined. I needed to see her change expression, or move, or pick up a glass, or SOMEthing- fuucckk was she ever annoying to watch. I mean, one response would have dropped a hint on what was being said.

 

'Good God. Is this what ALL her dates are like? Or, are they already married? They look way too young for THAT, but some people marry early.' I spied her hands as she ate her salad. 'Hm, no rings.'

The lack of tells was really beginning to piss me off, as I I found myself slipping into this womans shoes and imagining what it must be like to have to sit there, endlessly listening like that, and NOT BE a goddamn therapist:

 

'I wonder what she REALLY thinks of this guy- I mean, he's just fucking talking at her. Why does she put up with that shit?'  I zoned in closely to her face for any trace of impact, any sign of interjecting or laughing, or ANY response from this guy’s dissertation, but no. There she remained as lit as the chandelier, and as attentive as ten minutes ago.

 

'Ten minutes ago? Oh snap! I’m fucking STARING!' I realized, as I turned my eyes away, and ingested the last bit of the drink. But my mind continued on, buzzed on an empty stomach, hungry with curiosity and notions, so, I looked back. I only had so many clues to work with:

 

“Dear lord, a matching hair ribbon and sweater set. I mean, I wore that shit when I was eight at Easter, but she’s like twenty-four at some downtown hotspot. I certainly didn’t expect to see a sorority kid with her trust-fund accessory eating here on a Sunday. Maybe he coulnd't get them in for Friday.' I laughed to myself, perfectly content to tumble through the soused thoughts and wait for my potato quest to begin.

 

Soon G arrived with a spray of waiters behind him, all holding small platters of green:

“Here we are," he announced. The waiters all placed salads down simultaneously as G continued, "A delicate arrangement of organically grown greens, from right here Chicago, finished with shaved fennel and a light citrus vinagrette, which balances Chef's special selection of organic pinenuts which just arrived from Tuscany this morning."

 

G spoke with flair, clearly a man who knew every ingredient on the plate and the life story behind it. He had eloquently reinforced the intent of the artwork that was being presented on everyone’s plate- Well, everyone who was A La Carte that is.

 

“Don’t worry Li, I’m sure your first course will be arriving soon” Mom assured me, as a new glass of bubbly landed in front of me with a gentle pat of its base hitting the table.

 

This time it was orange.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A La Carte Start

 

I peered over at uncle L’s designer salad. “Wow, that’s pretty,” I commented.

“It really is. You want a bite?” he asked me, already forking a lettuce leaf.

“L, it looks like there five bites in there total. Thanks, but nah. Besides, I opted for eight courses,” I replied, confident that my first course would be out any second.

“Oh, that’s right,” he smiled and turned his attention back to his mother and wife, who were mesmerized by their own platters.

 

I glanced back towards sweater set and noticed her picking up a wine glass, then having a gentle sip.

'Dang, I probably just missed her response to that guy's endless spiel. I wonder if this is a regular place she goes to for all her dates? I bet she gets asked out all the time, and with THAT short menu, she's probably tried everything here, including the 'Study In Potato.

 

It was true, she looked just like Louis Winthorpe's finacee Penelope in the move "Trading Places": Fragile skin on a slender build, with fluttering lashes and lightly tinted cheeks.

 

Then again, maybe she's NEVER been here before, like me. That would make sense since she looks so invested. I mean, no one sits there like that without some sort of REASON, either that, or HE'S paying for dinner.' I smiled and slurped down the elixer with ease.

 

They were comfortable chairs, tall velvet backs with springy seats that somehow managed to stay perfectly taut, yet somehow managed to not mimic a picnic bench either; just an ideal balance between rigidity and softenss, between surreal and practical. Yeah, everything about the place was effortlessly paradoxical.

 

Sweater set started to blend into the pastel background. Her perma-smile and her vapid presence was becoming just as irrelivant as my being there. Where was my first potato?

 

'You know, if I were sitting there with her, I would really despie this fake front she's got goin on, or... oh shit- is this a BREAK-UP DINNER? Do people do that? Jesus. I mean, if she's getting dumped, why sit through it? He's gotta pay if she walks out anyway, so why sit there for all that?'

 

I really wanted to understand what sort of meal would warrant relationless company, then it dawned on me:

"Wait a minute, she’s not a CALL-GIRL is she?" It was becoming a real possibility.

I started to eyeball her closely, really considering if this was just some pretend costume and persona all bought and paid for, all neatly tied with a thin light blue bow tied in her hair, or if she was for real.

 

"There's no fucking way someone actually CHOOSES to be like that, and dress like that on their own volition..."Or did she?" I asked myself, out loud.

 

Then she looked at me.

“Oh shit,” I thought and looked away quickly, as I took another swallow of orange.

 

I could feel her glance my way, and her judgement; I was just some kid with her family waiting to eat, and having been there for some ‘special event’ (as I was).

“…and I mean, she would know” I reasoned, “…especially if she was there often- and a high end call-girl WOULD be..”. I laughed out loud, as the waited removed the salad plates.

 

I looked back over, and saw she had resumed her power gaze, fixated on her man.

“Holy shit. I wonder if that’s it? Did I get that right? No fuckin’ way-is she a hooker?” I asked myself as I stared deeply into her again, actually considering the chances, when she glanced my way again and this time our eyes made contact.

 

I smiled and she half-smiled back in her vacant way, with a gaze morphing into slight ackowledgment of exchange, then rolled her eyes back to her date, letting me know that ours would never meet again.

 

“Hm. What a snotty bitch” I laughed. “Well, she’s either real snotty, or she’s real nervous about the date she’s on.” I gulped some more orange fizz with head buzzing and a wandering mind on and on.

“OR, she's working... Which DOES kinda prove the call-girl theory." I started laughing harder.

Uncle L glanced over at me. " What do you have there?"

“Oh, it’s really good” I said with a jovial smile.

“I bet. What is that there-an orange champagne? That’s your second one, or what?”

“Yep. They put it down in front of me when I finished that last glass.”

“Oh, I see-you didn’t go ahead, and order it?” he asked inquisitively.

“Nope” I replied, with a shrug.

“Ah, okay. Well, how is it?” he asked, actually looking for some sort of report back, like I was some well- seasoned sommelier, with a whole opinion up my sleeve.

“It’s good,” I said

He just smiled, and asked “Did they bring out your first course yet? What was it?”.

“No, it hasn’t arrived yet” I replied.

“That’s so strange, you have more courses than we do, why wouldn’t your first one not be out already? That’s weird..” He remarked as he trailed off, and began to look around the dining room.

 

“So. What did we think?” G asked confidently. His lanky limbs popped back out of nowhere, and was looking at granpa S. "Do the notes balance for you, Sir? Can you sense Chefs choice for brightness on the finish? How does it taste?"

“It tastes like a SALAD. Why? What else would it taste like?” Grandpa S said with a frown. He was never someone who answered many questions, and wasn’t about to answer this one.

“Dad, ” my dad said to him as he turned to G, ”It was excellent, thank-you”

“Well, what does he want us to say? It tasted like a goddamn salad. It has lettuce in it…” Grandpa S trailed under Dads compliment, as Gs smile dropped, and his eye began to twitch.

“Your meals will be here in just a brief interlude..and mademoiselle- YOU’RE first course will be here shortly” G announced, as he turned to me.

“Sir, she has eight courses- why is her first course not served already? Uncle L asked.

Everyone stopped chattering to listen to G’s reponse.

“These orders are FRESHLY prepared Sir” G began, “This is why the eight course is recommended to choose as a GROUP- so that the flow of presentation is optimal. Her meal is being prepared as we speak, as yours is and has its own rhythm for the evenings journey”.

“Okay, it just seems that hers would logically be served EARLIER because there are more courses-“ uncle L began

“Actually Sir, the eight course is considered a longer adventure of the palate than the A La Carte” G started, cutting him off with more explanation, "And is often paired with petits amuse-gueles with apertifs and the like.

 

Suddenly, a plate was put in front of me. An interesting plate with a thick painted rim in hematite and black. In the center was a cluster of wispy golden brown curls, all folded in on itself, like dancing fish in a small poi pond.

“Thanks” I smiled at G before dashing off the rest of the flute, then handed him the empty glass.

He looked down over the rim of his glasses at the empty flute, his hands holding the long stem with immaculate white gloves.

“Yes, very well." he cringed, then turned away and disappeared to the kitchen once more.

 

“Oh, hee hee hee!” sweater set giggled loudly, pulling my attention back to her and away from my tumbling tubers.

'Holy shit, a response,'I thought to myself.

>Plunk<

I heard a drop in front of me, and it was another tall tower.

“Is that your second glass?” My mom turned to me with a pointed look.

“I think so” I said, rather glibly.

“Okay, but no more after that." 

‘No more will be needed” I said to myself, starting to realize that the liquid fizz had hit me hard on an empty stomach, and my head was beginning to spin.

 

I looked down at the glistening glass.

This time it was yellow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Or I’da Eaten Earlier

 

'Hm. No added colors anymore...I guess they don’t plan past two glasses, or is that a thinly dyed message for me?' I asked myself as the ceiling started to make circular motions all around me, head swaying back and forth and enjoying how the room looked when I did so.

 

'What the fuck am I doing here? Oh that's right.'

 

I looked down at the large plate considering how i might appraoch it. It looked like old fashioned chips. You know, just basic fried chips you get at a pub with fish or whatever, just a little thinner. I knew how to eat those; just add a splash of salt and dig in, fingers first. But we weren't at the pub, was I supposed to just do the same? I really doubted it.

 

Soon the staff appeared with plates piping hot, and a round of exclamations ensued.

 

“Oh wow” my dad said, as he eyed his birthday feast of pheasant.

>clink< went the plate before grandma M. “Oh my” she marvelled, “ this is lovely," grandma M began," Just lovely. Sass- did they get it right?" She looked at dad with concern.

"Oh yes, its perfect Ma" he assured her. 

"Pass the salt," grandpa S announced before G even began the tableside pitch.

"If you will turn your attention here, I will walk you through the provenance and intent of each dish..." G started to describe each one.

'God, I can't just start NOW....How the fuck am I supposed to eat this anyway? Jesus Christ, why is it always me?' I grumbled.

 

I was hunrgy as hell, clearly drunk, with no real outlet to channel my intoxication and getting more impatient by the minute. But I couldn't take a single bite with everyone expected not to and was just enough pause to figure out how I might even attempt to start.

 

'No one uses a fucking fork with chips... Or do they? How the hell will it stay on a fork though?' I thought to myself, pissed off that I was sitting in front of what looked to be eight wafty wafers with no way to actually get it in my stomach. I could already see the looks of horror and disgust if I dissected the crispy clump with nothing but digits, and on my first plate no less.

 

G was finally finished and I whispered to uncle L "Should I eat this with a fork?

"Huh?" L was already knee deep in his salmon refuge. "Gee, I really don't know Li," he giggled.

"Well, I guess should then. Iv'e seen people eat fries with a fork."

"Sure." he replied and turned back to the conversation at hand.

 

I picked up the large fork, which had a hevy handle, smooth and rounded on the end. 'Geez, thats a different balance' I thought to myself, thinking about how the set probably worked great with meats.

 

>crrunnnnnchhh< 

 

I tried to pry a single wafer off the wad, but instead recieved small shattered bits across the plate while the fork aquired nothing. 

'Of course. Of course this would be a single fry loaf with no way to separate it.' I was begnning to think "Chef" had planned it on purpose.

 

'Where is the next course? I mean, eight courses- I’de be fine with just a full plate of ANYTHING at this point.' I sighed as I put the fork down and started picking away at the edges. 

'Hm. Tastes like chips, Is this what its ALL gonna be like? If so, they got burned on the price.'  I looked over at grandpa S who was chewing on a beef tip and half listening to the others, all chatting away, all happy to talk about whatever.

'There's GOTTA be a way to get an actual bite and EAT this fucking thing!' I was determined to try as took a swash of yellow courage and took the toothy knife and fork to its center.

 

>crunnnncch<

 

Unlce L looked over. "How is it Li? Do you like it?"

"Yeah, I'll let you know when I can get it in my mouth" I replied, sawing through the bottom of the fry and lancing it with my fork.

 

PING!!!

 

Suddenly, a golden chunk went flying across the table. The converation stopped, and eyes turned to me:

 

"How is that first course, Li?" mom asked me, already on damage control.

"I mean, from what I can get on my fork, it's good." I tried to explain.

There was a small round of chuckles as everyone watched me try to weave a larger piece onto the fork.

"Sweety, I don't think you can use a fork" she said sympathetically.

"They gave her finger food? Is that the appetizer, or part of her dinner?" Grandma M asked, looking befuddled. She hadn't noticed the timing on the tots OR the glasses I had been slam dunking, and was honest-to-god confused as to why I had half a baggie of potato chips on a plate , and trying to use utensils on it.

"No Ma, that' the first course" dad answered.

"Oh, well, I wouldn't have ever have guessed that...Hm. Potato chips, for DINNER?" She stated. She didn't really need an answer from anyone, just the knowledge that whatever this establlishment THOUGHT itself to be, was nothing of the kind. 

'She's pissed she didn't get no bread rolls' I said to myself as I dipped into the chips and at three at once. 

 

>crunnch<

 

At last.

 

'Hm, not bad.' I thought. And they weren't.

They weren't surprising or revelatory, life-changing or miraculaous. They were fucking chips, and for a deep fried vegetable they were singing their little hearts out as best as oil and potato sheets possibly could. But a whole ass focus on the two elements at a sitdown? I was beginning to resent 'Chef' and his entire idea.

 

I turned to uncle L," I can't believe I waited for that when the hot dog shop across the high school makes this in under one minute.

He laughed. "Well I'm sure they have the same potatos or take the time to cut it exactly right."

"No, proably not, but after you deep fry, it all tastes the same."

"That tastes like the chips from the hot dog stand across from your school?" He laughed even harder.

"Um, yeah. Pretty much," I confirmed. I really wished I could have said there was some redeeming quality that I was missing, but would I have known anyway? I was already halfway finished with yellow, tastebuds numbed over oranges ago.

"Do you want some of this salmon? Its really good." he offered.

"No thanks, I really done like salmon."

"Are you sure? This isn't fishy. You should eat more than potatos anyway," he reasoned and bit into another square of coral.

"I'll just grab something when I get home," I explained. And I really had no idea what, just something long after this event, something that I could actually enjoy without any liquor in my system. 

 

I glanced around the table at the beautifully arranged plates. Grandma M had chosen the goose, mom chose prawns and aunt S tried the lobster. They were all clearly enjoying each one and soon it would be over.

 

'Well, if I’m the last one eating, we can just wrap it up to go- I’de rather get the fuck outta here' I thought, getting antsy in my no-nonsense seat and ready to simply go hit the 7-11 down the block then run towards the lake to walk off the champagne.

 

That was one of the benefits of living next to a large lake like Lake Michigan; time to stroll along the lakefront, and it went on for MILES, making it easy to get a solid hike in with a decent pair of kicks. I knew I’de reach my street eventually, waaay up north of the city, just past its limits, and stumble into our condo.

'Let's see..that would take about four and half hours to get home...Hm,' I began to consider, 'But it's still better than sitting here for another hour and a half. At least I could go have a smoke.'

 

The chips had finally kicked in, and my blood sugars getting ready to confirm that walk until dawn.

 

'I could just stick around for a couple of these plates, and just opt to take the El home...I wonder if they would go for that? It would make more room in the car for mom and dad to drop someone at their hotel instead of taking a taxi,' I reasoned, knowing that it was a longshot but kinda too drunk to care if it was.

 

Now, I should add here, it's not that I didn't appreciate being there, or the chance to meet sweater set (from whatever planet they made her). I didn’t mind G’s tinselly ways, or have a problem with my family ignoring me and fully wrapped up in long-winded conversations that most families have when meeting up at semi-annual gatherings.

 

I was actually happy to be there, resting peacfully on a cloud of impeccability and refinement. It was, after all,  so very different from where I had just come from; a summer of travelling east, hitchhiking my way to NY to attend the Woodstock festival in Bethel, camping mainly in state parks and forests with the full tote on my back. Light, carefree, and without a set of L'eggs for miles.

 

I was happy in the woods and enjoyed the simplicity found there; beads in the sunlight, stars at night, and with a single meal most days- always hoping it was heavy from good trades.

 

Yes, sitting in a french, apricot daydream was quite the contrast- especially this one, with all its magic potions and pretentiousness, but tried not to judge it harshly.

 

'Well, whatever- I’m open to everything the universe throws my way…I’m not gonna prejudge the finer things in life just because I’m in a woods state of mind” I said to myself. Keeping my mind open to the next thing served up.

 

Just then G arrived with a silver platter, 

“Voila…” G said proudly as he perfectly centered a hubcap size platter before me,“For you Mademoiselle." 

“Thank-you” I smiled, and turned to see the long-awaited display od round two.

And there it was...

...a lone, half-inch fried tater-tot, only this was one was flat and round.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Coming Around

 

In absolute stun, I reacted.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” I couldn’t help it. I really wanted to value the one inch fry as G was presenting it, but I had waited over fourty minutes for a fucking hash brown the size of a peewee marble. Are you fucking kidding me?

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Sweater set glanced over in horror.

I couldn't stop. I mean, where the control ended, the champagne took over, and my body wasn’t having a single moment of silence forthwith.

“HAHAhmmmmmpppffhhaha!” I tried to keep it in.

“Shhhh” my mom laughed.

Everyone in the restaraunt was chimed in at this point while G who did his best to ignore me and kept on describing everyone’s hearty platter over my insolence.

“And here we have the prawns which were soaked in an East Asian seaweed brine, then hand-seasoned for six days...” He sang out the descriptions so sweetly, smoothing over the moment, but clearly irritated.

 

G finally got around to my plate, as tears streamed down my face. I was determined to keep the howling in, which in turn created some new recipe in my psyche that had finally taken the humor, shame, intoxication, constriction, and hunger, all with pantyhose riding up my ass, to a sublime place of bittersweet. My mouth was closed, but I was busting a gut just the same.

 

“If the madam would stop laughing!” G said brusquely.

“Sure” I creid, but couldn’t wipe the smile off my face as he began.

“THIS is a journey into the various ways the potato has become a fundamental staple in the universal diet across the planet. There is not a single continent without the potato having an impact on humanitys cuisine….”

“Oh, my” said grandma M, who was listening intently to G’s words in wonder, which started me on a whole new round of laughter. I mean, she was really into the history lesson.

“This potato was imported from the Andes, and has been freshly grated, then designed into a perfect circular form…” G continued.

My stomach agreed with my logic as I listened to the man drag on about a grated spud that was deep-fried in fat for another few minutes.

'Jesus. All this talk- I could have already eaten it and been done with it in one snap, but now I gotta listen to a speech the equivelent of eating foutry five?' I sighed and I looked up at him, focusing on his jaw. It had a shiny edge to it from all his efforts, and his once frozen spiked locks were now in a meshy dissarray.

 

I could tell he was fully absorbed in his role and would consider this night to be one of the moments he would look at as one of his lowpoints in his career and would probably remember how he heroically saved the entire event with his ability to save the art from our ignorance.

 

I suddenly saw him in bright white spandex jumpsuit. You know the ones, that come with attached little capes, as he stridently walked between dishes and words, with his trusty silver platter shelding the stars attached to it.

 

"You see, Chef found that this series was fundamental to the guiding principle of this series" G continued, then looked down at me with a blank stare.

 

'How much does this guy make? Does he make more than those other waiters over there?' I asked myself as watched the long line of waiters on standby and listening to G's speech fully, but with complete boredom too.

"I mean, he does all the yapping, and he's got the look. He can't make that much more, can he? He doesn’t really carry anything from the kitchen....How long did he have to study these lines if the menu keeps changing all the time? I wonder how many other waiters want his job?' I took a sip of water, as G continued to discuss how the eight series were picked in specific order and why.

 

'Welp, whatever the amount, he’s really working hard for that gratuity' I admitted and listening longer

as he went on about the miniature hash, because YES, there was indeed THAT much time passing for me to contemplate all those questions.

 

“...AND ENJOY,” G concluded, and the whole group disappeared.

 

I looked over at everyones dishes as they dug into roasted limbs and tails, then turned to my mom in confusion:

“Are you going to eat it, Li?” my mother asked me.

“Yeah, but I have a question about it” I began to ask in a rather serious tone, because I really WAS confused about an incredibly trivial matter, and was suddenly realizing that I was not eating dinner anymore, but having a dance in foolishness.

 

 

“Okay, so normally its sort of rude to leave an empty plate while everyone else eats” I said as I began to giggle, “..but now that I got half a french fry, how do I pace this? Why would I do that--I mean, it’s already smaller than silver dollar-“

“- I know, I see that,” my mother consoled, “…just cut it and eat as best you can."

“Okaaaayyy” I replied, picking up the cold handled knife in one hand, long silvery fork in the other, and proceeded to cut it in half.

I put the crispy brown in my mouth.

“Hm, not bad. Oil, that familiar potato-y flavor... Tastes like a tater tot. Is this just a fuckin' tater tot?” I smirked, and then speared the other half, swallowing it down easily.

 

Soon the moment was over, and my big round ceramic dish was just as empty as my stomach.. So, I picked up the yellow champagne and washed it down as I decideed to see how my two favorite fixtures were doing on their date.

 

The couple had just received their meals, and she was finally using words, but it was more of a slowly morphing rather whisper than a reveal, much to my dissapointment.

 

The waiter took my plate away as she took a delicate bite, tilting her head softly forward, and then glanced up at me.

 

I just stared at her with a blank expression, still curious about her occupational hazards, then noticed a wiry thin waiter put another plate, fork, and knife on the table in front of me.

This time the plate was the same size as everyone else’s, and was presented with another center dollop, looking to be potato salad.

“This is the classic salad style we know, with potato as the main ingredient….” G began, as I considered how much I never really liked potato salad.

“..And enjoy,” G trilled, then pranced away.

“Thaaanks,” I trailed off, smiling, then sampled the third round. 'Mayo-ish, what is that? Horseradish? Dill.Yep. That’s potato salad alright' I said to myself, as I flashed my attentions back over towards brunette to see if she was ever going to let her hair down, and actually become more animated than wall paper.

 

I really didn’t want to stare, but she had my attention fully; I had never before ran across someone so cryptic and glossy, all wrapped up in light blue casmere. I started wondering if she was for real, or if this was an incredibly smooth operator who just happened to have the perfect wardrobe to look like a preppy cupcake.

 

Either way would be a sad reality, that much I knew- but it was becoming a truth I was absolutely determined to know, one way or another as the potato salad eventually made way to french fries:

“And of course, we have our classic long wedged potatoes, lightly frizzled in truffle oil…” G continued to explain, “..And enjoy” He said triumphantly and turned away.

 

I was starting to feel better as the sugars hit my bloodstream, cutting into the alcohol and diluting it, but not my speculation and still with no reveal from my mystery mannequin. I began to look at the handful of fries, leaned in on each other like a small, salty fort.

“How are those potatoes, Li,” asked my uncle, “That looks like fries”.

“That’s ‘cuz it IS,” I said.

“They gave you french fries?” he asked, and then laughed, “We could have just stopped by McDonalds on the way, haha.' 

 

He was right of course, but I wasn’t really listening to his dig, I had my eye on that woman, when suddenly she glanced over.

'Oh, shit!' I said to myself and I blinked away, then stabbed a wedge of fry onto my fork, but she wasn’t looking away. I could feel her boring into me.

I looked back up from the plate and our eyes locked as she glared at me with despise, as if to say “Stop looking over here” and “I hate you” simultaneously.

'Uh oh,' I smiled and glanced the other away, still knee deep in a gossamer headbuzz. 'Prom queen's mad.'

I watched my mom discuss the various projects that the non-profit she worked for was launching, as my thoughts drifted back to little miss sunshine. 'I wonder what’s wrong- Did he NOT pop the question? Or, am I putting her off her game and queering her pitch somehow?' I chortled as my next plate arrived.

 

"And for you Miss..." G announced.

It was a single boiled potato in the center of a large plate, with zig zag lines of yellow and cream intermingling around it.

 

'Although, I really should feel honored. I mean, that nasty pout she gave me was certainly more expression than I thought she was capable of," I giggled to myself as I cut the vegetable."Either way, that sweater sets for real, she's clearly a snotty bitch,' I decided, and left it at that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Time to Roll

 

 

Plates were cleared, and coffee was served by the time I received my next lesson; a center splat of mashed potato.

 

"And for dessert…Come-" G motioned to another waiter, who hurried over.

The second waiter took out a long necked lighter, as a third waiter burst out the kitchen doors with a small cake.

"We have something special for your celebration" G announced, as the other two men set the cake down, and lit a small sparkler.

"Oh, woooow," said dad as his face lit up with pure amaze.

"That's very nice," said Grandpa S in an approving tone.

Mom gave a small clap, as aunt S smiled, and sipped brew from a fragile coffee cup.

 

A small blonde cake was cut into pieces and passed around, as I ate the last bite of mash.  

 

I looked back over at her table, to see if they had taken notice of the event, but instead were paying their bill. The plaid man lifted the pen as she stared blankly at him just the same as she had the entire time.

 

'I bet she'll say 'thank-you' after he signs the bill,' I mused to myself, but nothing ever changed, and I wondered how she felt in that moment; having this one-dimension demeanor the entire night through, and now when payments come due, she managed to gloss over the transaction just like every other moment; splendidly awash in irrelivance.

 

I grabbed my fork, and took a bite of the cake. It was a basic vanilla cake with buttercream frosting, very sweet and typical, which reminded me of every birthday before, which apparently was why Chef made it like that, as G had pointed out early on.

 

I was happy to see my dad enjoying his celebration, and felt completed in my need for more steps down the potato trail, being pleasantly surprised to have found a slice of sweet familiar near the end of the road, and so I got the rest of my courses wrapped to-go.

 

"What?" G asked with a grimace as he turned to the group,"But she will not get the presentation-"

"So what? She doesn't want to EAT it," Grandpa S retorted, " Put it in a BAG."

"FINE." he replied in a nasally Chicago accent. G had broken character, and Grandpa S's job here was done.

 

"Here is your tally" G said, in a polished tone, as he presented the bill."And here- We have written out a description of the courses to still explore as well as heating instructions. You may read them yourself beforehand."

"Thank-you" Dad piped up and raised his hand to collect the small leather sleeve.

"No, no, no! NONsense! WE flew in for YOUR celebration and WE pay like we always do- ESPECIALLY on your birthday" Grandpa S said, in an insistent tone.

"Very well" G said as he began to hand to bill to Grandpa S.

"No Dad, this is quite a bit of money for such a large crowd, and I picked the place," dad reasoned.

"Of course," G chirped, and began to hand the leather folder back to pops.

"Nothing’s changed here!" Grandpa S snorted, and slammed his hand on the table.

"Okay, Dad, if you want to-" my dad relented.

"And this is yours, Sir, " G said, turning to Grandpa S with smile, while he handed him the sum.

Grandpa S grabbed the small leather jacket casually as he opened it up, and with a single look, freeze-framed into a million head explosions of 'holy shits', as grandma M looked over at the total.

"I mean, I just, well… I didn't know" grandpa S said in shock.

"Oh my," said grandma M with a frown, " That's quite a bit of money. Is that correct?".

"Don't worry!" my mom rang out as she lifted her plastic square card and hand it to G since she was closest to him, "Here".

"Oh, well, I don't know" Grandpa S sounded flummoxed and Grandma M frowned in confusion.

Mom replied with a smile, sealing it as a done deal as G took the folder from Grandpa S, and with a flick of his wrist, and smirk across his face, G spun around, and vanished to process the payment.

 

I still hadn't gotten any closer to my answers on the blue-bowed woman, and seeing her plaid date helping her get a camel hair coat on, meant I probably wasn't ever going to.

But, them getting up to leave did give me a chance to eyeball her chatterbox of a date who I was never really able to fully absorb, and now was my big chance.

 

'Fuckin' finally,' I thought to myself triumphantly as I studied him help her put her coat on.

A flat aura of a man, with blonde hair, light eyes, and a pasty complexion, that made his youthful pimple rash stand out amongst his newly shaven jawline, while his red plaid shirt matched his ruddy cheeks perfectly.

 

“She wants to marry THAT? There’s no way she’s not a paid escort,” I resolved, right as they started walking past our table to leave.

 

She paused a moment, turned back to him and remarked  “Honey, when we come back to Charlie Trotters, let’s not sit in THAT corner, Okay?”

“Sure thing, we have a reservation for next week, I'll make sure before we leave,” he replied unwittingly as they scuttled away.

 

"Hm. I guess that means she was for real this entire time, " I resolved, reflecting on a life of matching sweater sets and vacant smiles as my day to day.  "Although not necessarily...I wonder how long it will last?' I chuckled to myself as aunt S talk about California life. Then I enjoyed the rest of the cake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

STATEMENTS                                                                                                   12.22-

 

Oftentimes, I like to write up little statements that reflect my in-the-moment headspace.

I tend to write it down on little bits of handy paper (rather than type or text), but tend to have scattered words all over the place,  because of it :-)

I have decided start compiling written works here, rather than LOSE more of them...

..I like to look back and reread what it was I was considering, and see if I could perhaps add something more to that statement..or simply remember something I have long forgotten about:

 

 

 

 

Making Cents                                                               7.24

 

I use words the way I want to use words-

because fuck being corrected,

fuck being understood by people searching for pennies to begin with.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Have What You Like                                                      4.24

 

And as you like it,

Built up or destroyed,

Created or unmanifest,

All of it to make it none,

Time, caress and doting.

 

Have it your way,

and anyway,

you say.

 

Sayings green, then mean.

Sayings short, or a snappy retort.

A reply with a lie, 

Only a half try,

With the truer parts left to there die.

 

The only thing ever left unknown,

was never shown, 

and being unheard,

never made a word,

Effect, impact or closing.

 

 

Have what you like,

and unrealize what you don't desire,

No fire to unfeel,

or thirsts to quench.

Just drenched,

having it the way you liked it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Holiday Haiku                                                               12.23

 

Absolutely,

Best not knowing,

We die alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Know It ALL                                                                   9.23

 

How do you know it

know it all

how do you throw it

know it all

snow it all

 

how does it goes it

know it all

show it all

 

you make it go on on on

and its all.

 

How do you stowe it

know it all

how does he shove it

does it all

 

How does he blows it

know it all

he makes it on on on

and on and on and on.

 

Know it all

Know it all

its all and all and all and all and

all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mistletoe                                                                              9.23

 

 

Just days and days,

Stretching the ever-haze,

From where it SPRANG- it does grow;

The Mistletoe.

 

Then HER rustling,

Doe-eyed doe,

Having at it- toe-to-toe,

With antlers marked as dew..

 

..because it is now forever new,

and then kept endlessly black-and-blue.

An infinite grow,

right here, next to your Mistletoe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Which Came First?                                                              8.23

 

When I was just a peawee,

A still sprout in the cozy womb,

Mom was expected to harvest laboriuosly,

Which gave way to a moments tomb.

 

She fell down,

Bruising her crown,

and in return-

-born me,

a roaring sea,

...and also born with a bruise on my knee.

 

You see,

Art is said to be a response in vain,

To that of suffereing 

Who knows ONLY pain.

 

 

AND seeing that this honest truth,

Is to be told, 

Amongst my Youth,

 

In seeing eyes from the farthest

Pray tell ask, which came first;

The pain, or the artist?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Doing Something Differently                                               8.23

 

 

         DO SOMETHING DIFFERENT

SURPRISE YOURSELF

          FIND YOURSELF

BY not BEING YOURSELF FOR A CHANGE---

 

      DIVORCE YOURSELF

FROM not FEELING

   TRYING FEELING unyou FOR A CHANGe

                  SEE WHAT YOU COULDn't BE INSTEAD.

 

FIND YOU

       FROM WHAT isn't THERE-

STARTING FROM THE UNSIDE of you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Healing Green                                                                      8.23

 

Something to be seen-

after cuts, 

in the green.

 

That feeling where it's always been,

left in between,

left in the unseen.

 

And WHEN those cuts do disappear,

to be cleaned, 

to be preened,

 

Just in sensation ,

- fuckin everclear,

worth every cut you gave to me-

a healing green inititiation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Broken                                                 8.23

 

You want to break my heart?

Here, let me show you how,

Let me show you where to begin-

That you might shake my crown.

 

Let's take a little adventure,

To Sea and Lyrne and Dew,

Woven all together,

From my blessed heart to you.

 

 

 

 

 

ONE                                                     8.23

 

 

I hope I have woven a tapestry,

Worthy of your love,

Worthy of your light.

So that I may present it TO you,

At the end of this existence...

....and into the next

ONE.

 

 

 

Coercion Corners                                7.23

 

If you paint me into a corner,

If you bead me into line,

You will see very quickly,

What is yours is not mine.

 

If asked to stand and deliver,

and choose one side of the shelf,

You'de feel nothing but my quiver,

As I always choose my Self.

 

 

 

 

 

 

7.23

Here's the thing about Standards;

We ALL should have them.

 

 

 

 

6.23

 

While we are made of both good and bad, there is still the source, which is LIGHT..

If it was NOT truly source, then you would never recognize darkness as such; You wouldn't recognize darkness at all...only LIGHT casts a shadow..a shadow doesn't exist without it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

6.23

My work is not about the glorification of what I can MAKE-

It's about the glorification of what others can SEE <3

 

 

 

 

 

 

What Would Happen    5.23

 

What would happen?

If the end was known,

If the end was shown,

If the end was grown.?

 

What would happen?

If I had you near,

If 'I Hold You' dear,

If I made it clear.?

If I really HAD you, I swear.

 

Like kisses everyday-

and champagne in everyway..

 

..and when you'de say "What happens here?"

I could say "THIS happens dear"
Then you would KNOW what would happen-

 

In the end..

As if it had always been here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Day You Became Average     3.23

 

I did not cry,

Or was shocked,

I sorta expected it-

(Having been around the block)

 

Didn't need to see you,

Didn't need to beg,

The day you became just the average,

Just the reg.

 

..and in those moments,

I pondered,

Well, what was all the fuss?

For fake'n'average head games-

where 'Under Duress We Must".

 

Really more than any one 'thing'...

that could have been an issue,

Was the fact that what was once strong as gold,

..was really REALLY as strong as tissue.

 

..and when my tears DID stop falling for all the deluded reasons,

I went outside,

to an average day,

and gave meaning to its seasons.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CClean and PPristine    3.23

 

Everyones got their 'trinity', and I am no exception.

Whether a father-son-holyGhost, a maiden-mother-crone, or even an equilateral-isosceles-hypotenuse! every magic 3 has a pearl of wisdom to share. 

so, here's mine:

 

You never fuck your friends

You never fuck your family

and you never fuck work colleagues..

 

of course, mine can be strung together like pearls of deeper thought:

 

You never fuck your FAMILYS friends,

or your friends family or family of work colleagues..

you also dont fuck work colleagues friends, or friends you work with.,

 

Remember these 3keys to a clean karma and a shitton of avoided headaches. lol

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

>>>>>this tangent slice:

 

My favorite analogy on reincarnation has always been that of pie: Each life as a slice..with one very special slice that understands it's a slice of pie..it's THAT slices job to unite the pie as a PIE, rather than individual slices as "wholes" ...this is probably the first slice- and we ALL know how that slice usually goes: Imperfect, hard to get around, and hot out the oven :-D

 

 

 

 

 

 

2.23

I'm Married, with Goals;

it's like kids- only better :-D

 

 

 

In the Dark Room   2.23

 

In the Dark Room,

All alone, 

Was that me-

           on the phone..?

 

On that one record,

With the hand..

...sitting in a grandiose style,

A mile a minute

by that fly-by-night hat cap stand.

 

A place to meditate,

-a place to mourn,

A place to go

   and be with_drawn..

 

Beneath the covers,

Beneath the sheets,

Looking silly-

-giving a fuck about hearts and tweets.

 

The word potential holds no meaning

(as the word itself holds no rhyme),

 ...and so, here I can slip into unexistence-

-without a quandry, or a dime-

   -or time- especially withOUT THAT chime.

 

 

 

 

 

 

BoneYard      1.23

 

I Only Came for two things;

Love and Art,

Love died,

So Dont be surprised,

When you see me at the boneyard.

 

Love is Infinite- sure,

There really is no ONE to cling to

 -that satiates that open truth.

 

But I did the math,

and a cold body,

is better than no body at all.

 

It's all a corpse embrace,

So when you see me there,

Know that I am dancing with my love

and our beautiful son, 

who eventually embraces us all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Taste like Buttered Toast         12.22

 

Castle life as a castle wife,

Takes your time like a butter knife-

it covers you here...

and spreads you thin there,

But can never really take your life.

 

Castle life as a castle wife,

You'de think sometimes it'de be easier to tear it in two -

Using both hands- 

Letting me undo 

Any need

For such triviality

As a butter knife 

On my manna of life.

 

But butter knives serve it better

than a finger 

Or a spoon..

and a castle wife in a castle life,

hums to the toasty tune.

 

 

 

12.22

You can't delve into something great without finding something great inside of yourself to delve into....it doesn't have to center around the trauma- no need for a constant reenactment.

it can center around the strength that comes from that trauma...a subtle difference in focus, but tremedously distinct difference- like a hot blade on butter.

 

 

 

 

I Met Twin            12.22

 

I met him on the ocean-

between the air and sea...

 

I went a'projecting along my wave-heart,

and my completion I did see...

 

It wasn't something I understood,

or something I did feel...

 

It was more like seeing what I knew,

To be my search for something real.

 

&Upon awakening- my eyes forever changed,

A knowing within my entirety,

Distant yet close in range..

 

Searching through lands I thought I could,

Until I finally gave up,

Then he came to me in the strangest of ways,

To share a sacred cup.

 

Like air in surround,

and drinking in the water,

Gaiety then became the sun,

Bringing bliss like no other.

 

To meet us is to know one thing, 

To know us is another,

To be apart of this very thing,

Is beloved to the Lover. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

12.22

What an unforgiving bitch.

Demading complete and whole harvest-

will I survive it? Of COURSE- to torture me longer..

Will I give EVERYthing to her? Of COURSE- who wouldn't set up shop with eternity.

 

 

 11.22

Forever In Time

 

I wonder, where my millionth bead went,

Did it get stuck into the cracks of the floor?

Was I in idle thought as the time was spent?

 

I wonder, what WAS my millionth bead,

Was it shining like some unnoticed notoriety?

Or was I snoozing (indeed)?

 

Wherever it went, Whereever it goes,

It was time well spent,

Like all my creations- they froze,

Into that one single event,

and this millinionth bead prose.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

11.22

Who ever had time for true love?

I am sure many broken hearts would feel that they need mending, 

As my needle picks up scattered beads off a floor.

 

It's not that we didn't have eternity within our grasp,

It's that we didn't grasp the situation, 

Or the Hand holding our hearts in place.

 

Who ever had time for true love?

No one was ever going to save us from our own creations.

 

 

 

 

 

2.11

What we think we value in art, is really what we value in ourselves..

My work is made soley for my gaze- and in this way,

I make love to myself.

 

 

I make UNart.

UNart is what is not important to anyone else.

 

 

I choose to relate to the society through color and sound..

I am not anti-social-

I am creating lines LOUD AND CLEAR!!!

 

 

 

12.10

The Thinking Mind is constantly using deductive reasoning- even if commanded to accept input through a different means ( to trust the emotional reasoning, for instance).

The Thinking Mind cannot help but to eventually deduct itself out logically, and will seek that out as a solution to X..

It will willingly allow emotions to take control of actions, but like the emotional body, only as an organic part of its process, where it logically should...it is EASY to create logic to a willing Thinking Mind, already adjusted to emotional guidance..just comes down to the ego allowing itself to be slayed, and fear a normal trust.

 

 

11.10

If the work is okay, it will last momentarily..

but, 

if the work is good it will last a lifetime over.

 

 

 

If I can create, I can hold eternity at my fingertips.

 

 

 

 

Does art have to be exhibitionist in nature?

 

 

 

 

 

 

The subtle art of patience is lost in my growing,

Why wait on a flower to bloom when FTD delivers.