long lost riding hood

This is a super old version of Little Red Riding Hood from France. Notice that the girl does not actually have a red riding hood of any sort.

There was once a woman who had some bread, and she said to her daughter: take this hot loaf and a bottle of milk to your granny. So the little girl set off. At the crossroads she met a bzou (werewolf).

“where are you going?” he asked of the girl.

“I’m taking a hot loaf and a bottle of milk to my granny.”

“Which path are you taking, little girl? The path of needles, or the path of pins?”

“The path of needles,” she replied.

“well, then,” says the bzou, “I’ll take the path of pins.”

They set off, the girl amusing herself by collecting needles, while the bzou raced ahead. He arrived at the grandmother’s, killed her, put some of her flesh in the pantry and a bottle of blood on the shelf. The girl arrived and knocked on the door.

“Push the door,” said the bzou. “It’s just closed with wet straw.”

“Hello granny. I have a hot loaf and some milk for you.”

“Put them in the pantry. Eat the meat that’s there, and drink the wine.”

As the girl ate a small cat said: “She is slut who eats the flesh and drinks the blood of her granny.”

“Undress, child,” said the bzou, “and come into bed.”

“What shall I do with my clothes, granny?”

“Throw them into the fire my child, you won’t be needing them anymore.”

“Oh granny, how hairy you are!”

“It’s to keep me warmer child.”

“Oh granny, those long nails you have!”

“To scratch me better, child.”

“Oh granny, what big shoulders you have!”

“The better to carry firewood with my child.”

“Oh granny, what bug ears you have!”

“All the better to hear you with my child.”

“Oh granny, what big teeth you have!”

“All the better to eat you with, child!”

“Oh granny! I have to go badly! Let me outside!:

“Do it in bed, my child.”

“No, granny. I want to do it outside.”

“All right, but be quick.”

The bzou tied a woolen string to her foot and let her out. When the little girl got out the door she tied the end of the string to a big plum tree in the yard. The bzou became impatient and said: “Are you making a load out there? Are you shitting a load?” When he realized that no one answered him, he jumped out of bed and saw that the little girl had escaped. He followed her, but he arrived at her house just at the moment she was safely inside.

peanuts/sweet potato fries/guys

on peanuts and lifelong hatred
It seems that I've been a little behind the times for the last nineteen years. Have you ever figured something out, only to find that 3,567,224 people know about it already? Well, I have just made a fascinating discovery: peanut butter is really good! I've spent my entire life being repulsed by the smell, taste, even thought, of peanuts and their butter. If, when I was little, my mother had given me a choice between "green things" (which must be said with a proper six year old sneer) and a PB&J for lunch, I would have eaten the vegetables. Maybe if she had done that I wouldn't have hidden my veggies under my booster seat. I hated peanut butter that much.
I remember working at a smoothie shop, gagging every time I made a peanut butter smoothie. On Halloween I would trade all of my Reese's Cups for candy the other kids didn't want. I could never pin down what it was about peanut butter that was so repulsive. Macadamia butter, almond butter, cashew butter, hell- even vegan butter, were all okay with me. But peanut butter?
Then, a few days ago, for absolutely no reason at all, I ate a spoonful of crunchy peanut butter. And I loved it.

on sweet potatoes
Take a sweet potato and peel off the earthy skin. Cut it into thick slices, then to matchsticks. Drizzle them with olive oil, dust with salt and pepper, toss them with your hands. Food is more honest when you touch it. When you don't prepare it with care you feed only half the body's hunger. Bake the sticks on a sheet pan in a 400 degree oven, turning them often so they brown evenly. Take them out when they are done, not before, and certainly not after. Be mindful when you eat them; expect to melt. They're good.

on the subject of men
I think that dating guys may be one of the stupidest things I've ever tried.

There is such a thing as too much.

Finally, I stood up and taking off my earrings, stumbled into bed. Curling into a ball, I burrowed into the striped, colorful mess of blankets. The room throbbed. Some giant hand was massaging it like a failing heart. My own heart raced and thumped with it, beating wildly, erratically. I breathed slowly, carefully trying to calm the frantic heartbeats. But I was distracted by my arms. They were freezing. As the cold intensified into shocking pain, I realized that blankets wouldn't help. The cold was not coming from the air. It was inside, diffusing from my blood into my hands, my fingertips; a burning, cutting pain that felt like being rubbed down with menthol and then walking naked into the rain. I huddled into the pillows, completely fascinated by the threads of agony spreading through my ribs, into my neck and all the way to my toes.
Sometime later, I remembered my panicked heart, and raced to reassure it. But I arrived to find it thumping calmly, perfectly cool and collected.

I can't stop watching this.

It's just so beautiful. Over 2,000 photos were needed to make this stop motion video. Find out more about it here.

Color #6D7B8D/Light Slate Grey

It's half a hundred degrees out, and cold threads of air pry their way into the car. We drive in silence, last night's tequila still gurgling in our heads; the questions we won't ask or answer settling into the cracks between our lips, filling our ears. There's the tenseness of excitement: the promise of an adventure. Hands twined, we stare out of our separate windows at the leaping, whirling gulls. Together we watch the waves rearing towards the highway.

You grin as I shrug into your brown coat, silently saying how cute I look in it. With hands deep in our pockets we peruse the paths, rubbing elbows. Awkwardly, shyly hesitant, until our explorations took the edge off. Once, we paused in the sunlight, and I kissed your neck. The moment rocked, warm and twisting deep in our stomachs. And on the ride home I rested my head in your lap and slept, your fingers in my hair. Through the layers of unconscious, I could feel them twining, smoothing the strands.

Later, your fingers traced the dusty blue bite marks on my shoulder, whispering of fascination. Tonight, my own fingers travel the same lines, asking why I left.

A Random Sampling

I have to walk around Lake Merritt to get to school, which is a wonderful way to wake up. See the tallest building all the way in the back? That's my school.

Frida!

Our pepper plant, that really needs to be put in the ground. Poor thing.

I have a tendancy to make small shrines in unused spaces.

See?

This is our bear, Iley. Seriously though, she's huge.

People in Oakland are still tense over Oscar Grant. There are signs up everywhere, Oscar themed art shows, etc.

This is where I get surprisingly good coffee before I go to class.

Home!

Our tomato plant also needs to be put down in the garden.

Is this not the coolest cathedral ever?

Just, ya know, practicing swordsmanship in the park.

All the rest are from the zoo. :)

Teal Colored Love

jagged eyes, electric
racing through, kicking up dirt
keep up
probably dangerous
read the warning label
that good
that bad
that fun

reckless laugh
chilling, enticing
digging in, uninvited
laughter that holds you
owns you
too intoxicating
too violent
too loud

melts around the edges
so bright, burning up fast
taking you too
momma shoulda warned you
that girl is
scalpel kind of sharp
Kali dancing through the wind
ready to devour you
so beautiful
so toxic
so terrible

hair climbs the wind
storing static, finding sound
a million antennae
finding you
feeling you
exploring you
burrowing into your marrow
inescapable
telling her
"this one"

Goldilocks

thick tongue, cracked lips, dry hands all want UP.
the mouth's roof feels gummy, smooth, not quite right,
long fingernails scrape layers of cells off, away.
sweater on, teeth brushed, up the stairs.
made coffee that was too dark, too rich, not quite right,
left it half drunk next to the cigarette, half smoked.
down the stairs, into the shower.
moaning against water that is too hot, too cold, not quite right.
sitting, wet, shivering on the tub's edge,
looking for words, finding them limp, desperate, not quite right.
dried off, made a mess looking for clothes.
useless to care,
those pants are all too big or TOO BIG, not quite right.
dressed, up the stairs.
made tea with lemon, in the grey and brown mug.
dark, light, sweet, sour, and almost right.
later, looking in a mirror for no good reason,
I see, my hair is just right.

Seriously, the rocking chair is magic.

the rocking chair
on my back porch
a spindly, weather bleached thing, with a most uncomfortable seat back,
an old, blue cushion from a long forgotten couch on the seat.
it creaks.
this ugly old chair that I love,
it manipulates time.
I sat through eternity and a summer, just now.
and I thoughtlessly labeled the first breeze "cold" when it brushed past me.
and then,
"feel," no one told me.
but I did.
and I felt the molecules of my body vibrate,
and I felt the orbits of the world at the nape of my neck,
and I felt the wind puff past, lifting lightly,
gently,
so gently,
a fine mist of my cells.
and it was summer.
and the molecules pulsed,
slid,
towards the sun.
and I felt the colors that summer travels with,
as they flowed through my cheekbones,
and down,
into my body,
lending their warmth.
and it was dark,
and I was in the rocking chair,
blinded by the loss of summer.