Wednesday, April 09, 2008

summer in abaddon


I think that I'm overinvolved with the past.

I want to edit. I want my past to be as flexible as my present; that these unresolved plotlines should find a natural close. I've marked the pages where the narrative drifted off, and I come back to those pages when I should continue to write forward. A found-then-lost phone number; a series of calls unreturned; a cryptic message for which I had no logical response; an addled conversation in a college parking lot; an awkward last attempt over strip-mall burritos. I want resolution, and I want it too much.

Living with Bear, a person who lives so entirely in the moment that it consistently trips me up, has showed me how beautiful right-here-right-now can be. He acknowledges his past, but it is certainly not his master - I doubt he's ever flipped back the page. I find him brave for this. I used to have trouble believing that it was possible to be so present; now, I find deep inspiration and solace in it, and I long to have this power of meditative insouciance that I don't quite understand.

See, 'cause I still haven't really learned that the past isn't a redactable, graceful thing - an equation that sums neatly up to the energy expended to create its parts. It's a big heap of messy, rambling, repetitive Joyce, beautiful in its quaint and sparking live-wire untidiness.

Let it be.

Saturday, April 05, 2008

what better place than here, what better time than now


Something struck me this week, as I was baking up a stack of chocolate-chip cookies - how stupid I've been to buy in to animal-product culture. I keep having these forehead-slapping moments when I sub out veg products for animal and realize they're not only just as good, but often *better*.

You don't need butter or eggs to make a succulent, crumby, puffy chocolate chip cookie. F*ing amazing!

You don't need parmesan cheese to make a decadently creamy basil-mint pesto. Guess what works instead? F*ing nutritional yeast flakes! I kid you not. I'm a foodie among foodies, and I couldn't for the life of me tell the difference.

This vegan thing is completely punk rock.

This, of course, leads me to a different sort of question - why am I the weirdo?

Farmed-animal cruelty is not uncommon knowledge. The perils of cholesterol aren't, either. Nor is the inherent benefit of a veg-based diet...or milk sensitivity in, like, everybody..nor the obscene tax on the environment from the farmed-animal industry...nor mercury in fish, nor the high concentration of other inorganic toxic compounds in meat/dairy/eggs, nor any of the other billions of things that are wrong with eating animal schtuff.

So why do I get the "crazy hippie" treatment for opting out? Or the "what DO you eat"?

Totally dumbfounding.

Bear and I were walking to the Blue Hen in Eagle Rock yesterday. The hours there are as wonky as the food is transcendent, so we had a few minutes to kill before we could claim a table; we decided to take the opportunity to explore. After a delicious amble through the secret-garden neighborhood tucked just above it, we made our way back along Colorado. Passing Tommy's, a wave of lardiness rose up from the fryer to assault us, drifting up through the air and off the faces of the sausage-shaped family at the outdoor table.

We just looked at each other and laughed - 'cause we're free.