Icarus's blog: "Augurs, Martyrs, and Agnostics"

Title has nothing to do with content.
Go figure.

wait

wait...
*puts on the good parts of "Sticky Fingers"... which is most of it*

This week I stopped singing.
I sing in profound sadness.

I think that was the first sign.
The next was a long
torturous reconciliation dream...

Faced a lot of things I didn't want. Woke up without wanting.
And it was strange.

I could probably turn this into abstract prose, but I'm too...
cathartasized after the facts, and the 3 pieces last night.

I don't know what I'm feeling.
I don't know what I want.

Go back to school a couple years I guess...
Do that human
thing.

I've been invited to a hippy-commune.
Honestly
probably wouldn't be so bad.

I would need a part time job, a little electricity, a little internet
but...
I'd have better ingredients than I have now
and probably more space.

It's fun to think about, but not very seriously.
I think I'd be that grouch on the edge, in an underground house with doors and locks.
And I know I'm the only person with the wherewithall to get it together, or to think ahead.

Hippy-friend-neighbours in the middle of nowhere are WAY better than assholes on top of you.

If I had a magic wand
a million dollars
the right job
the right girl

I wonder what I'd worry about
I wonder what I'd want then.

If I could have my wish at this VERY moment
it'd probably be to keep my hair
six pack abs
a cigar on the back porch
and a day off.

Because I have a liverwurst and cornedbeef sandwich to look forward to tomorrow.

If I had a wish for the very next day
it'd probably be
job
publish
bomb-shelter house
my puppy to live another 40 years

And an argument could be made
that I have enough random
crazy shit
to get at least one book of poems pushed.

I've really peppered the field after this much time.

...

This liverwurst and corned beef sandwich is gonna be really fucking good.

I want you to know that
more than anything else.

The liverwurst is average, but the corned beef is home made, and we've even got left over horseradish.

This could be going better.

The bleary headaches.
The fuzzy mornings after.

The promise.
The confide.

The terrible wake of feeling
and not.

This morning.
It was gone... I couldn't imagine the face.
Couldn't draw, recollect, or create.

Just wasn't there.

I felt like there should be more.
Something that hurt.
Something missing.
Something dead and dragging...

Freedom.
Horrible
Horrible
Freedom.

I found myself in strange
alert
sober states
in strange
orange
places.

Hilltop dusks.
Smoking a cigarette.
Rooftop sunrises.
Smoking a cigarette.

Where was the end,
where was the start?

If I face the wrong side of the wrong day
does it really matter?

And more importantly
have I ever, really been here before?

Maybe not so much here
as been.

I heard a story once
about a man that took children in the night.

Did he eat them?
Murder them?
Whip them to drive the great engines of Hell?

I always imagined him pulling a bloated cart down twilight streets
wobbley wheels
husky hollow breaths of the ageless

Were the bodies in the cart?
Was anyone brave enough to look?
... or were they in some phantom hole where his heart should be?

The old folk say you can see him on a pale night
skulking in the edge of what you thought you saw.
Flitting and darting between your paranoia,
insisting on his breach into reality.

He is that foul breath in a still room.
That cold brush against your neck.
He is under every crack
crevice
and dark hiding spot you were too afraid to check before bed.

How do you even get that job? Shuffling silently down cold night
reaching through windows
digging through beds
and into still cribs
Wrapping boney, dry fingers around plump, wriggling legs
placing a stiff hush over tiny lips
What depraved nightmare birthed such a hollow, faceless butcher?

And why
always
the raspy
clicking
shuffle.
And the smell of old rags...
musty
parched
dirt washed

Scratching against the floor
hungry for more.

My favorite part of baseball has to be close games taken into the ninth.
Tensions are high
every swing is a potential game ender
Edge of your seat kinda watch.

That's where I learned to appreciate a good pitch.
A 3 up 3 down.
Patterns.
Tendencies.
Slumps.

The skirt of a slider
the flit of a cut
the dip of a rainbow.

That was for bombero.
I always called him Jack.

Changeup.
Got em looking.

There's no one there to save.
Especially during that
other
half of the year.

Makes me wonder what becomes of stances
deliveries
takes

How quiet is the winter?
Does that silent terror have a name
a face

Or did I just introduce too much bourbon to this particular equation?

My status for the last day or so, and this title are from a gomez song.

Uuuuuh... where to start.

I've been playing Diablo 3. There have been hiccups, fuckups, and blowups, but ultimately, I'm ... kinda steamrolling this game.

Its more intuitive/handholdy, and not as challenging as the predecessors, though the difficulty did ramp up a bit between chapter 1 and chapter 2.
The story is nonsensical (when you "expel evil forever" you... apparently only expel evil for a couple decades), but its an all around good, fun, frenzied dungeon game.

I'll probably only play through with 2 characters to max level (out of 5 playable jobs), and then I'll park and sit on my hands waiting for an expac/additional content.

Still waiting on my white paint so I can work on my fade gundam.
Activity has pretty much halted on my robot forum.

Work has been stupid lately. No big surprise.
And my legal paperwork is in the mail, notorized, and pending.

I guess I have to wake up 2 hours early tomorrow, and sit around waiting to go in and unload a semi full of cardboard.
*unenthusiastic finger twirl*
This wouldn't be an issue if I could
A.) Sleep.
B.) Wakeup
C.) Get ready in a frenzy
D.) not have an upset stomach ALL day on days where my routine is upset.

... don't fuck with my routine.

It makes me violently ill and anxious.

uuuh
oh
and I accidentally asked out a hot girl...

I dunno if accidentally is the right word.


So
I'm at work
there's a cafe in the same building, right next to where I work
and my "supervisor" (like the quotes there?)
orders lunch there pretty much every day and occasionally the girls working next door deliver.

So I'm piddling about at my job
and the pretty barista comes in drops off my supervisor's lunch and starts talking to me (as midwesterners are often known to do)
and she asks me
"Do you ever eat?"

... I don't eat out during work weeks. It bothers my stomach, throws me out of whack.

Its become a running gag where she asks, and we kinda bat around topics, and chitchat.

I says "no"

She says "why not?"

I says (rather than rattling off my neurotic/biological sensitivities) "its a long story, we're both at work right now and can't really talk, why don't we discuss it over dinner some time"

She kinda blushed.
And smiled.

"oh gosh! Well, I would, but I'm living with someone"- and she started backpeddling closer to her work
that's always a great indication of things to come...

At this exact moment I prayed she wouldn't say I was a really nice guy

-"and you're really nice, but you're right, I gotta go back to work- have a good day!"

"you too"


*droops*
*sighs*
*goes back to work*

"Wow that was REALLY smooth!" says my supervisor

"What me getting shot down?" I say with a forlorne smile on my face.

"No- you asked her out, I should've told you she had a serious boyfriend, but I thought you knew- and you even fit in a joke there- 'I never eat, let's discuss it over dinner'"

"yeah... that was kinda my intention".
And I smirked

my patented, visibly clever, secretly lonely, smirk.

You ever feel like pushing someone in front of a train?

You could rationalize, you could weigh, you could gauge and you could measure.
You could make a tiny list of pros and cons.
Why and why not.

Or you could make a simple gesture and have your answer.

I don't remember how this day started.
I don't know if I slept in these clothes.
I don't remember the last thing I ate.
I don't remember how I got here.

My hands are chewed.
Raw, scabby and bleeding.
I'm aware of an orchestra of smell.
Iron. Gasoline. Ejaculation. Cigarettes.
The hurt. The annoyed. The futile.

Coffee can fix this.
Coffee and jailbait in daisy dukes.
Coffee and whiskey, and jailbait in daisy dukes can fix this.

I was fit to drive.
But the sun cut into my brain like a sharpened screwdriver.
Cheap.
Improvised.

Fucking scareball.

Anyone I know?
Quiet.
Mercifully.

Counter's clean.
Jailbait's sweeping.

How fucking late did I get here?

She starts with a smile.
It kinda bobs
and follows.

I'm struck.
As always
from the line her thin lips
almond eyes
and sharp cheeks point straight to me.

I dunno what she sees there.
I see a smolder.
Recognition.
Easy tip.
Easy mark?

Just the flit of dialation...
what did the book say about that?

Attraction.
If only I could check her pulse right now.

What'll you have?
How was your weekend?
Wanna fuck me over the counter?

If only.

Transacted.

A twinge of guilt and arousal.
Again with the frilled, scissor-cut shorts.
With a visible crease where bulging tan ass met sprinter's thighs.

Just enough wiggle to salivate.
Just enough bend to stagger.

Wonder what she tastes like with a bourbon and kenya-blend chaser...
I imagine a whisper of cream, sweat
and hints of caramel...

Attack, evolution, finish.
It was a very good year.

That feeling of bad rooms
bad black stains
and bad things is back.

The clink and roll of errant glass.
The unwaivering need for some
hard
hot
wet

anonymous
liquor down my throat.

That all important third drink.
One for the pain.
Two for invulnerability.

Amber bites.
Bad room spins.
Stained floor says hi.

I don't know where I went wrong.
Don't know that I did.
Don't know how I got here.

I must have put that cigarette out on my arm
It wasn't dark then.
It wasn't for me.

This was more about celebrating.
At least I thought.
But it turned.

More and more.
Toward that feeling
that problem.
That solution.

There was a confession in there somewhere...
about hands on stomachs
and deep, exhausted kisses.

Where did it go?

So... after 3 hours of stacking boxes, I came home, cleaned house a bit, and started prep for my five course dinner.

Plans changed a bit, but it wasn't anything I couldn't/hadn't dealt with in living in an area with scarce produce.

I spent about 2.5 hours cutting vegetables, baking/prebaking, stacking up, precooking noodles and cleaning.

No big deal right?

At one point my neck/beck went out but ...
let's take you on this little trip.

1. For my appetizer course (and this made my Brother crack up, because I said "and that was one course" very casually when explaining it)

Antipasto ala Ick:
Thin sliced italian bread with alternating pestos arranged around 3 stuffed tomatoes with mozeralla balls between bruschetta.
...

That's pretty self explanatory right?

I made my pistachio-arugala-spinach-oliveoil-basil-salt/pepper pesto (extra chunky version).
Punched up classic.

And my artichoke-walnut-oliveoil-greens(mainly basil and parsley) pesto.
Smooth/mellow.

around plum tomatoes stuffed with
breadcrumbs, olive oil, capers and parsley

with well placed mozerella balls.

Comments:
I've never ate anything like this!
Oh my god!
Wow.
It's so pretty!
You made this yourself!?

(cleaned plates)


2. For my salad (with chilled plate and fork)
I made a "citrus assault"

Intro: Usually salads are mellow and crisp, and a pallette cleanse, kinda neutral and timid, I decided to make a culinary assault with bold and unfamiliar flavors.

So I arranged orange/lemon sections (with that fancy cut that takes out all the white stuff and takes forever to do)

over a bed of arugala/spinach

drizzled with a heavilly salted citrus infused olive oil (I like my salad with flake salt >>)

with centrally placed chive blossoms and minced shallot, and a sprinkling of pistachios. (because one of my guests said her favorite nuts were pistachios and cashews)


No fennel, no decent olives. Had to adapt.

Comments:
Is he every woman's fantasy!?
How do you know so much about food?


(cleaned plates)


3. Soup was... a catastrophe. "Spring minestrone"
... but I think it still worked.

It had
Cubed/diced: carrots, celery, onion, zuccini, garlic, potato
Whole green beans, whole grape tomatoes
small pasta shapes
split peas

and would've benefited greatly from a ham bone, meatballs, and a pound of cheese...

but I was cooking for vegetarians.

And I used store vegetable stock (there were 4 boxes of low sodium vegetable stock on a WALL of beef/chicken stock... that was it. Obviously not a vegetarian friendly store)

Low sodium stock has its place... but I was constantly adding salt to this damn soup.
I think I eventually bumped it up, but I started it 3 hours too early, overcooked the green beans a scooch

and I only used split peas as a substitute for missing ingredients.
Worked
but for the first couple of hours they were... crunchy.




Comments:
Ah! Its hot!
Like burn my mouth hot!
But it's good.



... so I came back in from the kitchen and conversed for 10-20 minutes until the soup cooled. My service was going too fast anyway.
Served some wine. Chatted. Got a couple origin/background stories.

(over half gone, and some "I'm getting full" comments)





At about this time I dropped my dry pasta for my main dish, and ... didn't time my main dish correctly at all XD







4. Main course was cubed, peeled,partially seeded eggplant, cubed zucchini, bell peppers and garlic in a basil-tomato sauce with linguine.


And I said
more than once, that I have NO IDEA what "done eggplant" looks/tastes like.
I was informed I did a good job. I just poured the sauce and lifted it once the eggplant tasted kinda like weak apples/celery. Plated and served.


My pasta clumped a bit because I didn't stir it enough, and I left it out of water too long... but it wasn't overcooked at least.


Comments:
And you say you've never cooked eggplant before? I haven't either and this is great!
Gah this is like restaurant food, you should start a business!
I want to eat more, but I want to save room for dessert too!

(around half cleared plates and comments like "man I'm glad I didn't eat lunch" and "I've never ate so much good food")







5. "Dessert as my father advised"
was "something with dark chocolate, women love chocolate"

So I picked up some 86% ghirardeli chocolate... this is make your mouth numb chocolate. I shaved it fine, and broke off big chunks of it and piled it over some hagen das chocolate ice cream.

I couldn't get it out of the bucket... because I forgot to soften it on the counter... but my guests suggested I put it in the nuker for 15 seconds, and that worked.

So we had gooey
rich chocolate icecream with chunks, shavings and whole bars of super dark chocolate.

... and then I remembered to pair it with wine, and serve some pistachios

Comments:
I was waiting for this moment.
I LOVE salt with chocolate.
I LOVE chocolate.
























The evening itself-
I was elbow deep in antipasto, and I was honestly expecting these girls to be 20 minutes late.
They arrived right on time at 8:00 P.M.
I heard giggling... and two figures darting around my back yard to my grand front entrance (giant door on a giant porch)
I answered the doorbell to two
young
thin
made up
women
...
in flapper dresses/costume
and hosiery.
Complete with the lil flapper feathered headband
ruffles
My friend was in combat boots
her girlfriend was in high heels.

"Awesome... I am way underdressed"

giggles.

I put my dog in a safe place, changed into my best black polo about two sizes too small to make me look more cubed. Ran a comb through my hair
Served drinks in the living room and finished antipasto.

Pulled their chairs out.
Poured wine with a towel over my arm.
Served dainty lil plates on a precisely laid out setting.
Gave my course spiels.
Made chitchat.
Complimented them on their lovely outfits.
Answered questions.
Asked if I could get them anything.

... mostly in a british butler voice XD







And after dinner they had a cigarette on my huge front porch, talked, came back in for a bit, looked at my photographyish recipe books, talked more about food and what I like to cook.
Talked about documentaries to watch.

Distributed antacids.
And bid farewell.

I had to take my dog to the vet at the asscrack of dawn
and my friend's girlfriend had her sister in town (a rare occasion)

During the night I got a poutey text from another lady friend about not being invited to dinner
not only is she ALSO a vegetarian, but she's also gluten intollerant...
I think I made ONE dish gluten free that night :b

And I didn't invite ANYONE to dinner.
They invited themselve XD




Got a nice hug from the bisexual freespirit freelove type in the group.

And my old-friend says "I've never hugged you before, have I?"
And she hugged me.

I ... didn't really hug back.
"What you don't use your hands?"
"I didn't know how comfortable you'd be with that"
and put my hands on her back and a gentle rub.

I'm a pretty good hugger- I'm better at hugging people with intent.

I think my friend's heckles were up a bit because her girlfriend had her arms around me...

Understandable.


She does kinda hug... and touch a lot.


And I'm pretty bad ass.

It didn't take long for tale of my five course dinner to get out.
The general consensus in the amoeba of friends is that I'm
"pretty bad ass".

In an Iron Chef kinda way I'm guessing...
which is about the most bad assed a person can really be.

But not that pansy Iron Chef America crap...

If I had one word remaining
for this moment
this feeling...

I think I'd waste it ordering another drink.

No great travesty today.
No bewildering tragedy.

Just a somber boredom.
Unfulfilled, and plucked like so many idle banjos
and dulcet euchal... fuck I could never spell that word.

When was the last time it rained?
This is stormy mood weather.
Strike that.
Invert it.

And I mean really rained.
None of that thunder and fireworks.
Good
old fashioned downpour.

Cascading waves of oblique deluge.
Walk-against kinda rain.

Something I could use to ignore field fires
and situational hitting.

Good day to burn something alive.
Strange. Distant. And without a name.