Rock & Roll Cookbook! Billy Joel & Pizza

Head on over to Lex Wine Blog where you can learn to make pizza from scratch and discover some surprising facts about everybody's favorite Piano Man.

UPDATE 7/10/12
The Lex Wine blog is totally down :(
So I've reposted these articles here.
Thankfully I retained the rights to this project


___________

            A long time ago Billy Joel was better known for crafting tight, melodic piano ballads than for driving his car into things. Repeatedly. Given the cultural appetite for the  lurid details of our hero’s lives, it’s easy to lose sight of his remarkable talent. In this installment of the Rock & Roll Cookbook we are going to explore his 1977 album The Stranger and make a delicious pizza from scratch.

Born in the Bronx in 1949 to a German father and an English mother, music was always a part of Billy Joel’s life.  His father was an accomplished classical pianist and the young Joel took his lessons from a woman who also taught ballet in her studio. This led to much teasing in his early years. So much so that he took up boxing, eventually fighting on the Golden Gloves circuit.

 Billy Joel went into the world determined to make it as a musician come hell or high water. Upon leaving school he commented “...To hell with it. If I'm not going to Columbia University, I'm going to Columbia Records and you don't need a high school diploma over there." Within six years he was, in fact, signed to Columbia Records. Tenacity and dedication served him well. Though he didn’t officially graduate High School when he left, he returned 25 years later to finish his last English course and collect his diploma.

The Stranger is perhaps one of Billy Joel’s best known albums, impeccably produced by Phil Ramone. A violin prodigy who went on to produce acts as diverse as Luciano Pavoratti and Clay Aiken, this was the first team up between the two. They went on to work on all of Joel’s albums up until 1989 together. (This partnership lasted longer than any of Joel’s marriages to date.) The interplay between Joel’s songwriting and Ramone’s producing is thought to be the root of the power of these early Joel albums. Four of the nine songs on The Stranger were Billboard Top 25 hits, and the first track Moving Out eventually spawned a Broadway musical with choreography by Twyla Tharp.

Upon entering the studio though Billy had more rough ideas than completed songs. In fact the iconic whistling on the title track was originally intended to be a wind instrument, but Phil Ramone advised him that the whistling “was the Stranger.” Perhaps one of his most iconic songs, Scenes From An Italian Restaurant, was originally three separate songs. Inspired by the second side of Abby Road, the three songs merged into the 7 minute 37 second epic that spawned a thousand waiter’s opening of “Bottle of white, bottle of red? Or perhaps a rose’ instead?” In case you’re wondering, the Italian restaurant in question is loosely based on Fontana di Trevi across from Carnagie Hall. Though Only the Good Die young was met with some concerns over it’s perceived anti-Catholic content, Joel is always quick to point out that in the end the girl refuses the proposition in question. Though he hasn’t released any new pop music since 1993 Billy is constantly touring and has premiered a few of his classical pieces in concert.

Onto the food!

            Though making pizza dough from scratch can seem intimidating, it’s actually a fairly easy process. However sometimes we don’t have a day in advance and in those cases pizza dough is usually available in your grocer’s cold case. There are also the pre-baked crusts but I have always found those to be inferior to starting with dough.

Pizza Dough

3/4 cup warm water about 10 degrees above body temperature

1 envelope active dry yeast

2 cups flour

1 teaspoon sugar

3/4 teaspoon salt

3 tablespoons olive oil

In a small mixing bowl combine the water and yeast, letting the mixture stand for about 5 or so minutes.

Combine all of the dry ingredients together and then slowly add the yeast mixtures and the olive oil

The dough should form a slightly sticky ball.

Take the dought and move it to a flourerd surface, perhaps a larger bowl that gives the dough room to rise

Knead the dough until it is smooth. If the dough is super sticky feel free to add a little more flour.

Lightly coat the ball in olive oil and cover the bowl. Allow the dough to rise for and hour and then punch it down in the center.

The dough is now ready to be made into pizza.

preparati

Hackensack Heart Attack(ack ack ack ack) Pizza

Being born in the town of Hackensack, NJ and raised in the state I have a particular affection for this song about “every kid trying to make it in America.” This pizza harkens back to those evenings with my family all around the table. You may notice that there aren’t exact measurements and ratios for the pizza toppings. If you love arugula, pile it on. Can’t stomach prosciutto? What’s wrong with you?! I mean, just leave it out...I guess. You’ll also note that I am not suggesting you cook a pizza sauce persay but simply to use canned tomato. The intention here is to let the natural flavors of the tomato ring through rather than to over sweeten by the inevitable carmelization that occurs when one cooks a sauce and then bakes it in the oven.

You’ll need:

-Pizza Dough

-Prosciutto

-Arugula

-One Can of Crushed or Diced Tomatoes

-Fresh Mozzarella Cheese

-One can Quartered Artichoke Hearts

-Freshly Ground Black Pepper

Pre-heat your oven to 425 degrees.

Spread out your dough on a oiled baking sheet or a pizza stone if you have one.

Spoon on the tomato sauce, adding by the tablespoon full until you get the coverage you desire. You may notice that it is a little chunkier than your traditional pizza sauce, this is a call back to the more traditional pizzas I ate growing up. Try not to put on too much sauce, just a thin covering, other wise your crust will be soggy.

Sprinkle on a thin covering of mozzarella cheese over the pizza.

Add the prosciutto in slices across the pizza, then evenly distribute the artichokes.

Layer on the arugula, but keep in mind that it will wilt and shrink significantly in the oven.

Add the fresh cracked black pepper over the arugula.

If you desire add just the slightest sprinkling on mozzarella over the arugula.

WINE

Though Billy is a little more liberal with his wine pairings than I am I might go in the direction of a red wine for this meal. A Tempranillo, with it’s black plum flavors pairs well with the pork and the notes of black pepper will create a taste bridge from the food to the wine itself.

-Christa Pagliei

One Word/One Minute: Sneaky

The bouncer crossed his arms across his chest, his gold watch level to Jackie’s eyes. 
“There’s no way I’m letting you in, the club is full and you’re not on the list after all.” 
He was about to get mad when Judy pulled her away from the bouncer. 
“Don’t you want to at least TRY to see them play?” Jackie wined. Judy just ran a small hand through her short hair.
“When the going gets tough, the punks get sneaky.” she said, and she pointed to the fire escape.

--------


Oneword.com

The Rock & Roll Cookbook is Bold As Love

Check Out the newest entry in the Rock & Roll Cookbook

UPDATE 7/10/12
The Lex Wine blog is totally down :(
So I've reposted these articles here.
Thankfully I retained the rights to this project
_______

Rock & Roll Cookbook # 4

THE ALBUM

Jimi Hendrix  Axis: Bold As Love

Patron saint of over-driven amplifiers and wah-wah pedals everywhere; Jimi Hendrix is thought to be the greatest Rock & Roll guitarist of all time. With his distinctive look and wild guitar style his name is synonymous with the excesses of the late sixties, and his death at twenty-seven is still considered a great loss to the music world. Born in Seattle, WA to  seventeen year old mother Lucielle while her husband Al was away in the army. Jimi’s father was part Cherokee and had six fingers on each hand, the former which influenced Jimi’s aesthetic style later in life. Often struggling with family dynamic and fiannces the family moved frequently and “Buster” as his parents called him took refuge in playing the guitar. After a stint as a paratrooper in the army Jimi began to persue his music career in earnest.

In 1967 The Jimi Hendrix Experienced released the album Axis: Bold As Love. 

The first Hendrix album recorded in stereo rather than mono it was a groundbreaking album both sonically and technologically. One of the most interesting was Hendrix’s use of a Leslie rotating speaker. Designed for organs the rotating speaker created a wavering effect on his guitar.  Well crafted songs, many of which later became cover staples for other artists, such as Little Wing, Up From The Skies a jazz influenced tune about aliens, and the roaring yet delicate title track Bold As Love round out this album that is ranked #83 of Rolling Stone’s 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.
It is with this album in mind that I present to you the meal, a romantic dinner for two inspired by the album that is comprised of a Spicy Pork Tenderloin, an asparagus side dish, and curry cous cous. Most of these recipes are intended to sit overnight and then slide into the oven, or plate. This is designed to leave the partner who is cooking with time to enjoy being with their significant other, or others. Free love baby, free love.

THE MEAL

Bold as Love Pork Tenderloin

This spicy pork dish is both tender and hot, the perfect centerpiece to a romantic meal.
You’ll Need:

-3/4 pound of Pork Tenderloin
-2 tbs Olive Oil
-1/4 tsp salt
-1/4 tsp pepper
-1/4 a tsp cayenne pepper
-1/8 a tsp ground clove

1- Combine dry ingredients in a small dish and mix thoroughly
2- Rub the tenderloin with oil
3- Put an even coat of the dry spice mix all over the tenderloin. Refrigerate for 6 hours, or overnight
4- In a pan with sides bake the tenderloin at 425 degrees on the middle rack for 20-30 mins
5- Let the pork stand for 5 minutes before slicing

Wait Until Tomorrow Asparagus Salad

This cold side dish is also intended to sit overnight, allowing the asparagus to absorb the dressing and chill. When the time comes simply take it out of the refrigerator and serve.

You’ll Need:

-1 bunch of asparagus
- 1/4 tsp salt
- 1 lemon
- 1 red sweet pepper
- 1 tbs Olive Oil
- ⅛ a cup crushed cashews

1- Clean the asparagus and cut off the white ends
2- Boil water and drop the asparagus in to blanch, do not leave them in the water for more than     2-3 minutes. If you do you’ll have limp asparagus, which is very unsexy.
3- Combine the salt, lemon juice and a little lemon zest, the sweet red pepper and the olive oil
4- Toss the dressing mixture with the blanched asparagus, put in a covered dish and chill overnight
5- When ready to serve sprinkle the crushed cashews on top as a garnish and to add depth to the flavor.

Curry Couscous
The famous cover of this album was directly lifted from an Indian religious poster. Though Jimi expressed appreciation for the symbolism, he also said he would of liked something that reprsented his Cherokee heritage. I personally disagree with Jimi, and this is one of my favorite album covers of all time. Inspired by the Indian theme this is a curried couscous recipe. Curry is the ideal starch for this meal as it is easy and quick to prepare and is designed to get you out of the kitchen.

You’ll Need

-1 cup of plain couscous
-1 tbs of butter
-1tbs curry powder
-1/3 cup raisins
-1/8 cup parsley
-1/8 tsp cumin
-1 ⅓ cup boiling water
- salt to taste

1- Boil water, adding in butter, curry, cumin, and parsley. Allow the butter to melt and the spices to mix into the water
2- Add couscous to the water, mix thoroughly, and turn off the heat.
3- Allow the couscous to sit for 5 minutes, and then fluff with a fork


WINE

The spicy nature of this meal calls for a wine that can cool the palate. A riesling, with it’s fruit and citrus tones strikes just the right note with both the pork and the side dishes featured above. Check out __________ over at 111 Lex Liquors.

One Word/One Minute: Anywhere

The wooden porch slats dug into her bare legs, the very same ones her grandfather had laid down when they first built the farmhouse. It was big sky country and the view seemed to extend into forever and ever still; yet in her heart Mary just wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere but here. oneword.com

One Word/One Minute: Dim

The bare bulb hung from the cord in the center of the room giving off a dim light and buzzing gently. How many hours had he been in this windowless tomb? What had he done to deserve imprisonment. There was a knocking at his door and the sound of a metal latch sliding, grinding against it's socket. Long enough for a beard he thought, long enough for that latch to rust.


_______________________

oneword.com

Rock & Roll Cookbook: The Ventures

Take a stroll over to the 111 Lex Wine Blog.

Walk, Don't Run to the Table

UPDATE 7/10/12
The Lex Wine blog is totally down :(
So I've reposted these articles here.
Thankfully I retained the rights to this project


_______

The thermometer is dropping and fall is finally asserting itself. Dark evenings and chilly days are upon us, for many of us that change is met with a mix of joy and sadness. This week I’m encouraging you to hold onto the sun just a little bit longer with a kid-friendly meal inspired by surf-rock gods The Ventures.

THE BAND

The Ventures are one of the most famous bands you’ve never heard of; a living symbol of the phrase “Big in Japan.” Their playing style and use of guitar effects was revolutionary; remaining one of the most influential groups of all time, inspiring such musicians as Peter Frampton, Ray and Dave Davies of The Kinks, Blondie, The Beach Boys, The Beatles, and Brian May of Queen. Yet who was this all instrumental, surf rock before surf rock group that championed upbeat melodies and wrote the theme song to Hawaii Five-0?

Formed in Tacoma, Washington in 1958 by Don Wilson and Bob Bogle. Later Noki Edwards joined the group. Their first hit was a cover tune Walk-Don’t Run, and they pioneered concept albums with their 1961 record The Colorful Ventures, with each song on the album reflecting the central theme.  Though they had much commercial success in the USA, the 1960’s and early 1970’s brought a sharp turn in the musical cultures. It seemed that there was no place for an upbeat surf band in the edgy and frequently dark new market. Japan was calling however, and the boys hopped over to the Island. Their unique sound and lack of lyrics turned out to be a huge help breaking into the musical scene in a new country. 1965 saw The Ventures charting over and over, gaining 5 out of 10 of the #1 songs in Japan that year. To this day The Ventures continue to perform live and tour.

THE MEAL

A Japanese spin on a American mainstay today’s meal is Walk Don’t Run Burgers, Japanese inspired slaw, and the always popular finger food edamame.

The Walk Don’t Run Burger

Named after one of the groups most enduring popular songs, this burger is infused with ginger to give it a zesty flavor that everyone can enjoy.

You’ll need:
2 pounds of ground beef
1 egg
½ a cup of dry bread crumbs
2 tbs soy sauce
2 tbs minced garlic cloves
3 tbs minced fresh ginger

1. Beat the egg in a large mixing bowl.
2. Add ground beef, breadcrumbs, soy sauce, garlic, and minced ginger.
3. Mix using your hands. This can get messy, so if you have kids helping you in the kitchen, you might want to put them in an apron.
4. Form the meat into 8 equal sized hamburger patties.
5. Either grill the burgers on high heat, or cook them in a slightly greased pan.

Eat them as-is or put them on a bun!

Colorful Asian Slaw

This Asian slaw, inspired by The Ventures’ ‘61 album is a great way to get kids to eat their veggies, and since cabbage is low-cost it’s a great way to stretch the budget in a tight week.

You’ll need:

2 cups shredded purple cabbage
2 cups shredded napa cabbage
1 cup shredded daikon radish
3 chopped spring onions
½ a cup shredded carrots
¼ a cup rice vinegar
¼ a cup sesame oil
1 tablespoon honey
½ a teaspoon salt

1. Simply mix all the cabbage, onions, and carrots together.
2. Sprinkle the salt over the cabbage mixture
3. Put the honey, oil, salt, and vinegar together in a jar with a lid. Shake vigorously.
4. Pour the mixture over the cabbage.

Pro-Tip: To add a little crunch put some crushed almonds or cashews on top of the slaw.


Edamame

A fun finger food, these green soybeans are eaten by squeezing the beans out of their pods with your fingers. They work great as an appetizer or a side dish. Put leftovers in lunches or use as an after school snack.

You’ll Need:

½ pound fresh of frozen edamame in pods
3 tbs salt (more if you deem necessary)

1. Cut the stems off all of the pods
2. Wash edamame and well and in a bowl salt all of the pods.
3. Boil 6 cups of water in a large pot, add 2 tbs of salt to the water.
4. When the water has come to a rolling boil drop in edamame for 4 minutes
5. Drain the edamame in a colander and allow to cool before serving.


WINE

This meal works best paired with either a dry Merlot that has accents of plum, and blackberry or a Pinot Gris. Pinot Gris is made from the same grape as it’s popular brother Pinot Grigio, but is dryer with a similar citrus flavor and light spice.

One Word/One Minute: Horses

The thundering of their hooves echoed over the valley. The wide swaths of grass crushed beneath their feet were the source of fascination for Will all his young life. Roads to nowhere, on and on into the horizon. ------------ OneWord.com

Just an observation...

Read in succession, these posts make me seem like a real sad sack. I'm not. "I just like beautiful melodies telling me terrible things."- ToM WAitS

One Word/One Minute: Laughter

The sound of the laughter echoed though the hallways. The house's architecture was entombed in her mind. The dark green damask wallpaper extending, yearning forward for what seemed like ever, & the oil lamps giving off their orange light. It was the only place she’d ever been happy and she knew that, and lamented it, especially here; at the end of her life. ________________ OneWord.com

One Word/One Minute: solitaire

When she opened the door, a musty smell wafted over her. Stacks of yellowing newspapers were everywhere. Nobody had been inside for years, a hoarders paradise. In the corner a man lay slumped over a card table. The game solitaire spread out before him.
“How fitting.” Julie thought before tripping over a box of glass figurines.

One Word/One Minute: Hearts

She picked up the cards that the dealer gave her. A swath of red spread out on her hand. All hearts. If she was her grandmother she would have taken it as a sign, but she was only herself, and a gambler, so she put down a card and motioned for the dealer to hit her again.

________

oneword.com

One Word/One Minute: Left

The only sound that Mike could hear was his own heart beating in his chest. The thudding of his feet on the pavement, only a few feet away, was not close enough to be in the singular world of his head. How many miles left? When did I start running? There were perks to having retrograde amnesia as a marathon runner.



__________________


OneWord.com

Rock & Roll Cookbook #2

Take a trip over to the 111LexWine Blog and check The Rock & Roll Cookbook! This week we've got Rush and Honey Glazed Salmon.

One Word: Positively

When Mary looked down at the old barca lounger she tried to be optimistic. Perhaps it was just a transitional device, this piece of furniture. A transitional object like her pacifier or blanket had been. Yet she worried. Its slightly stained upholstery seemed to glare at her. The issue at hand, echoed the voice in her head, was not that it was a transitional object, but that this morning he had even called her by his long dead sister’s name again. Lately her father had been forgetting that there had even been a transition. 


_______


www.oneword.com

One Word: Relate

It took her a long time to get to a point where she could relate to the other animals in the woods. To be honest her father hadn’t been very encouraging. “They’re just different from us, too many legs or not enough! What would you even have to say to them?” Jerry changed that. ________ www.oneword.com

One Word/One Minute : Still

Her hair hung around her shoulders, dripping wet. The tub drained its water down in a tornado. She stood still by the door waiting to hear the noise. The drain sucked the last of the water sloppily down the pipes. The scratching echoed from the window again.

The Rock and Roll Cookbook: The Manifesto

I'm a featured blogger over at the 111lexliquors blog. Check out my first post in what's going to be a weekly column.

The Notes from the Rock & Roll Cookbook: The Manifesto

One Word : Obsession

www.oneword.com

you have 60 seconds to write about a word that is chosen by the website above

One Word Project: obsession

The doctor called it obsession but he never agreed.
“I’m just a passionate person. Like Da Vinci, or Michael Jordan.”
Granted sometimes his passion made him do unusual things, like what happened to the cat.

One Word Project: epiphany

you have sixty seconds to write about it
click ‘go’ and the page will load with the cursor in place.

simple. you’ll see one word at the top of the following screen.

don’t think. just write.
www.oneword.com
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TODAY'S WORD: epiphany 

The idea came to her suddenly.
“If I re-route the pipeline back into the coolant sector, we can reduce the heat of the barium crystals and save the ship!”
The android whirred with the calculations,
“Where do ideas come from in humans? Organic spontaneity is hard to compute.”

Wherever you go, home goes with you: Real Estate

          It’s twenty minutes to show time and I am a block away from the club when my phone starts ringing with an unknown number. Martin Courtney is on the other line,

“Are you there yet? No? Good. Tell then you’re on Bleekers’s list. I totally forgot to tell them to put you on and I’m not there yet.”

           When I arrive at Webster Hall there is a crowd of people outside. Technically the show is to promote their cover story in Fader magazine, and it’s already a zoo. Brooklynites, indie rock fans, and the like stand in line, jackets on for the first time in the season to fight the chill in the early fall air. When I get to the bouncer his way of checking that I am really who I say I am is to lean close to me and whisper conspiratorially.

“Ok, if you’re on the list, which band are you here to see?”

           When I answer Real Estate he grins “It’s a secret show…” he says, looking more like an excited kid than an intimidating bouncer. I’ve never seen security detail this excited for a small rock performance. I’ve also never had a band member so concerned that we would get into the show. It’s this kind of two way enthusiasm that is keeping the band’s momentum rolling from their first album, a dreamy decidedly lo-fi affair, to their second, a more polished but deeply honest album. Once when we get inside the smaller downstairs room “The Studio” as it’s known is almost packed wall to wall. It’s pretty clear that the secret is out.

          Real Estate got its start in the groomed gardens and immaculate landscapes of suburban New Jersey. In the kind of environment that might inspire scorn in a talented musician Real Estate found it’s earliest inspiration. The boys, Martin Courtney, Alex Bleeker, and Matt Mondanile had been long time friends, growing up together and spending lazy summers playing music in each other’s homes. When college was over and the boys returned home, it seemed second nature to play with one another again. The result was the freshman self-titled album released on Woodsist in 2009. Their new album, Days, released this October through their new label Domino, retains all of the things that made the first album catch notice from the likes of Pitchfork and Popmatters. Well-crafted melodies that catch you with their elegant simplicity, paired with sparkling guitar riffs that evoke Johnny Marr from The Smiths craft the “beachy” vibe that the band is known for. The bass line provides the kind of groove that can even get jaded New York scenesters to dance.

          When Real Estate takes the stage it’s clear that their recording technique is not the only thing that has evolved from this tour to the last. While Courtney previously hid behind his shoulder length hair as he played he now seems almost comfortable on stage. Almost. The band is tight technically and the years of playing with one another show in their intuitive grasp of each others playing styles. The addition of Jonah Mauer on synth adds depth to the overall sound.

          After the show the good vibes spill over backstage. The room is cramped and smoky. A far cry from the sullen indie rock stereotype, everyone is friendly and upbeat. Throughout my conversation with Martin well-wishers and old friends show up. This is a hometown band that never lost their connection to where they came from, despite a move from the suburbs to Brooklyn. A lot of things are changing for Real Estate. A few weeks after this show their single “It’s Real” was featured on iTunes, a nice nod; their album too has garnered positive reviews. Their tour to support the album has just begun and though it will take them far out of New Jersey you can be sure that the state will in some ways travel with them. At the end of the day the title of their single is true of the whole band themselves. It is what it is; it’s real.

My Regina (I)

i.
Mornings are feral.
One sock half on, every hair growing in a different direction
I drag myself out of the den. You are up up up.
I’m making eggs and quinoa
and
do you want any?
and I tell her
baby
please
I don’t want no hippie food,
I just want rye toast, black coffee.
(then I cringe cause it sounds rough outside of my own head.
homegirl is just trying to make me eat breakfast
and don’t I have half a kind word for her this early?)
so I try to make you laugh
bring up about last night
when Jefferino told us rapid fire
that quinoa was only $1.50 a pound
recommended we make a big bowl every week
and that it was, in fact,
the mothergrain…yo.
you tell me
Hubert likes quinoa more than rice.
I grind the coffee.
Hubert also made a tattoo gun
out of a pencil sharpener
and got Rex to carve
“Welcome Theives”
in Russian
on his ass.


ii.
See I was at that party
and so was she.
We hadn’t met yet,
didn’t meet that night.
Separated by the oceanic divide
of Hubert’s new tattoo.
Our mutual fear of being presented
with the bloody horror
(the gun didn’t work so hot)
kept us on opposite sides of the house
and so we never met.


iii.
They look like curly little tails in the eggs,
and though they seem kind of cute.
I still just want rye toast, black coffee.


iv.
Stop pacing, and if you’re looking for the radio, it’s busted
The stove’s heat melts the patterns on the pane,
it refreezes into slashes across the glass.
how’d it…
oh it just fuzzed and popped and stopped.
A large piece of mirror stands in the corner
reflecting a sliver of the scene.
And I cannot remember
when the glass monster was transmuted
by lack of time or indecision
from art supply to home décor,
but I have nearly cut my foot open on it twice already.


v.
–I remember
how we did eventually meet.
All five of us were moving into the slanted house together.
You and I were the only ones who showed up early to sign the lease.
You opened the pickup door and the ice cracked like a pistol shot
get in, it’s freezing.


vi.
The radio’s bowels are all over the coffee table.
I am searching for a loose wire.
but I really am desperate to fix the thing.
After I drop you off at the hospital
I will be home, alone, before work,
feeling useless as all hell.
I’ll want the news
and the paper ain’t gonna sate me.
I want to lose myself in those disembodied voices,
let their words become my thoughts,
let the waves bounce through my brains.
My toast pops up, it’s burnt.


vii.
-I am too wide awake




Written in 2009, the first part of this seven part poem appeared in the magazine Beatniks and Cowboys in their Summer 2011 issue

You need to have a plan to deal with terror

When Ben was afraid at night he'd sleep on the floor of his closet to fill the void there. When he crawled out in the morning his face was dimpled from laying his cheek on the carpet. His legs would wobble with pins and needles since he had to bend his knees at an odd angle under the winter coats just to fit. Considering the kind of man he became I think it's funny that as a child he was desperate to become his own monster.

Clara's First Love

Billy was born so sinister he had two left hands. His right canine was pocked by cavities and his eyes were the color of rust. When he sang it sounded like a train whistle and his only cologne was gin. He was born in a barn and he never left. He could whistle up a wind and draw down the moon and take the sting from a bee bite. He was my first love and I was his last. The train came and took him. Took him whole by force.

Brief Elegy for Delia Derbyshire

Ode to my darling Delia D
How the robots dream of thee
A pale mathematical saint
And in the days I cannot hide
The architecture you derived
Does conspire to save me

Oh my darling Delia D
Writ in water robot elegies
Loops of sound eternal
Wobulate the dulcet tones
Crafting in your Delian mode
Strange and elegant sonic bones




Who is Delia?

Notes I write to myself and find later...

List #1

Is this a checklist, a reminder, or a list of things to do?
I have no idea, and I wrote it...

The Consumptive's Prayer

I will learn to starve an artist. I will learn to feed a fever. I will learn to steal a dead man's coins from the grimmest reaper. I will learn to break a fragile bone, to twist a toughened spine. I will learn to shatter, learn to breathe, transfigure my mind.

Rejected Paragraph From A Short Story

I throw out my entire first paragraph about 90% of the time...that doesn't mean that I think it's a bad paragraph, but the first thing on the page is seldom strong enough to carry the tale.

The moment that the spring turns to summer is easy to miss. It isn’t like the switch between summer and fall; that is, less of an instantaneous change and more of a gentle slope into a haze of leaf smoke, ghost stories, and apples. The change from spring to summer is mostly an internal one. A defrosting of the mind and the lifting of the green bud fog into a different sort of haze. One of heat shimmer pavement and emotional languidity It only takes a moment to step from one kind of seasonal drunkenness to another, but you never notice until the change is complete.

2 New Poems in InstagatorZine

Two of my poems will be appearing in Issue 12, coming out this September.

This is a great litmag out of my home state of NJ. It's available in some shops (check their website for specifics) as well as via ebook and mail order.
Instagator Zine- Issue 12

Monologue To The Flies In My Kitchen

Now, I want to preface this by saying that I am a reasonable woman. I believe in live and let live, but there comes a turning point for all that. A point when you say “You know what guys, enough is enough.” You’ve been here, evolutionarily speaking, for a long time. That’s great. But generational history doesn’t necessarily mean rights. I think that since you only live three days, and I’ve been on god’s green earth way longer than that I inherently get more rights. That may not be politically correct, but it's what I think.

Now I’m not saying I have it rough or anything. In fact today wasn’t particularly bad. I went to work, got mad shit done, I hit the gym, hopped on the subway. I even stopped by that little green-grocer I like. Got some really good produce. I was excited to get to my apartment, make myself a little something, maybe watch some TV, and go to bed.

And then I walk through the door.

What the hell-ass is going on here?

It looks like Beelzebub himself is having a kegger in my kitchen with all the demonic spawn. Who the hell do you think you are? Buzzing around like you own the place! Unacceptable.

The fact of the matter is, evolution aside, you’re disgusting to me. You are a harbinger of disease and torment. You feed on shit and refuse, which confuses me, since I bleach the this place once a week before my mother comes. So really guys, what are you eating? And additionally, and no offense meant here, you’re ugly. Though that isn’t the crux of my Goddamn ire. Roaches I hate too, but they can survive a nuclear war so I gotta give credit where credit is due. You can’t survive anything.

Which brings me to where I am now. Standing in the kitchen with my groceries.

You guys have made a grave mistake.

You are going down. Every last one of you. I am going to the bodega. I am going to buy supplies and then I am going to hunt you. To be frank, you are getting in the way of me making a delicious meal in the comfort of my own home. And that in my opinion should be voted a cardinal sin by the Vatican. I look forward to that meal all day. The crafting of something delicious to eat should not be sullied by the concern of some vicious little poop eating vermin flying into my food. That makes me ticked off. Like, really ticked off.

Now I like the environment. Maybe I’m even a closet hippie. I recycle, I try to buy green cleaning products, I may even be a vegetarian. But don’t you dare think for even a millisecond that I wouldn’t use the most vicious poisons imaginable.

Because I will.

You see, you all made a fundamental mistake. I can’t cook with you all buzzing about in the air. An Italian woman’s kitchen is her personal temple, and you are trying to degrade it. This kitchen isn’t just a place to cook food, it’s a bastion of safety, warmth, and nutrition. You have sullied that. You must be dealt with.


Oh, and I am not just going to put up fly-paper. That sweet sticky stuff that attracts you and then grabs you, makes you struggle, maybe ripping a leg or two off in the process. I’m gonna make sugar traps. Sweet wine glasses half filled with honey’d water, covered in plastic that you crawl into but can’t get out of. So that you drown in that which you desired. Dante Alighieri would have loved that shit. Then I am going to spray all of you with the aforementioned poisons, just to be sure. So that you get delirious and drunk and eventually fall to the ground, twitching and convulsing. A death worthy of what you are.

Here’s the kicker. I am going to catch one of you before all this happens. Put him in a jelly jar and make him watch the flyocalypse that is about to occur. Then I am going to release him onto the street, just so one is left alive to tell the tale. After the contorted horror on that second-to-last fly’s face, he will spread the story to all your disgusting brethren. My name will be whispered in garbage cans city-wide. Maggots will have nightmares of me as they munch through rotting flesh. My face, seen through compound eyes, will be synonymous with insectoid horror.

Fear me.

-from the notebook

Genuine Wild West

Yay. I'm art directing a New Jersey western out in May's landing.

not special / just unique

I had only lived in New York for a year, and in the streets of the city the faces are starting to melt together for me. So many times I have just stopped dead in the street on 5th avenue, the blur of bodies moving around me, thinking, knowing that I’ve seen an old friend pass by. I’ll sneak up and get a closer look and then realize it’s just a variation on a theme I have come to know.

Upon my first meeting with friends from Vermont when I first moved here I mentioned this new phenomenon. One of them, who had grown up in midtown, said that it was just part of the sad truth of becoming a city dweller.

“Everyone” he said “starts to look the same.”

I was taken aback by the statement. It seemed so negative in the grand scheme of things. Though I might have had similar thoughts, I had been coming about it from a very different angle during my time here.

More and more during my short time on this little hurtling orb of ours I am struck by everyone’s lack of specialness and everyone’s beautiful and precious uniqueness. Let me explain.

As any misfit teenage boy who’s read Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club will be more than happy to tell you: “You’re not special.” They’ll say it with a sneer and probably do something adorable like skuff at the dirt with the toe of their enormous sneaker. If you get the chance tell them that it’s true, and that it’s beautiful. Because the thing is, inherent in this startling lack of specialness is the reality that we are not alone. Everyone you meet is fighting a battle. Fighting to make a living, to fix our broken relationships, to get to know our kids, to find God, to forget our past, to remember the names of the people we’ve wronged, to figure out how we’re gonna pay for school, to tell her we love her, to take the first step to sobriety, to take the first step out of the house in fifteen years, fighting to find a reason to fight anymore until the fight itself stops being a fight and just becomes living and everything is so overwhelming you wonder how we can even take it anymore and we wonder why people aren’t screaming in the streets and we marvel at the fact that gun metal ever grows cold. And then, when we least expect it, somebody says a kind word, or holds a door, or holds our hand, or trims our hair on a rooftop on a Friday night. It makes you so happy that you just start being. For a whole couple hours you might even just walk when you walk, just eat when you eat, and laugh when you laugh. And then it starts all over again.

Every time you’ve been on the subway and felt contempt for the people around you, someone else was also contemptuous. Every time you thought you were alone you were swimming in a sea of sameness. There is no escape from the great unifier of the human experience and it’s one of the greatest gifts that we receive.

You’re not special, you’re just unique. That uniqueness is your birthright and your curse, the fact of its existence does not elevate or denigrate you. It just simply is what it is. It took me a year of this city to have that lesson ground into my heart. Like a bittersweet mantra it reaffirms itself with every walk down an avenue or rocketing journey though the subway system. The faces may blend together but the people themselves still seem real to me. The city, a coral reef, and all of us building our lives around us. Lives and missions that are somehow simultaneously shells and billboards. The sounds of the city speak it to me: You are not special, you are unique. Love, move, work, play, sleep. And again, and again.

The Kids Are OK

By now I’m sure that you’ve heard about my generation. We’ve grown up hearing that we’re all special and now we are uniquely unequipped to deal with the harsh realities of the world. You’ve heard that we’re technologically addicted and we exist in a word that is increasingly physically cramped and more and more spiritually and emotionally isolated. The beauty of info-share and the slavery of the baud rates suffuse our lives. The newspapers have told you that we’re happy to pose and preen and pretend to be either corporate or counter culture but we’re really just riding on coat tails. That we are too concerned with the creation of our own separate “public” selves to cultivate a private one. I will admit that I have met my fair share of shallow people, but they don’t seem to be limited to the under thirty-something set. There are people who certainly believe that for them the rules do not apply. However I think that it has more to do with the fact that these few (yes few) are crippled by their own hand. Mostly, I am surrounded by people who are desperately trying to do the right thing in a world that is changing so rapidly that the older people that we would have followed don’t even know what to do. Sometimes we are forced to move blindly, and that can look like floundering to some people, even if at the end of the day we’ve moved forward after some sideways shuffling. People forget I think, that this is an untrodden landscape. That the end times have come and gone and that this is the world that we have to forge on our own. And there are no straight answers. And there are no straight paths. And that being a settler in an alien terrain is dangerous, especially when you don’t know what to pack.

Here is my list:

Bring your ideals
Bring compassion
Bring practicality
Bring patience
Bring hope
Bring vigilance
Bring strength
Bring spirit
Bring humility
Bring stewardship
Bring energy
Bring self evaluation
Bring love
Get down

.move.

Scrap

I have a question

If an onomatopea is a word imitating a sound; is there a version for a word imitating a feeling?
Is that all the words?
Because queasy and nauseous make me sick to my stomach.
And sick to my stomach does not.
Just wondering.

Haiku For Headley

When I lose balance
something subtle rights my scales
Friend, I love you too

Balm my soul with that sweet lowdown.

Untitled # 23

He carries the speaking dead on his back.
"You're drinking all the whisky." he said
"You're breathing all the air." she said

Elegy for a Magician: A poem for Harry and Bess Houdini

When the great Houdini died,
and did break his mortal bonds,
the brethren performed the ancient rite
of the broken wand.(1)
But before he made his exit
the skeptic made a last reprieve:
“Hold a séance on all hallows
the code is “Rosabelle believe” (2)

Now the circle waits for answers
and the postcards from the dead
lo’ the automatic writing (3)
does come naught from hand or head.

Dig a grave or build a castle
neither can contain
the water in the vessel
tis’ the soul’s seat in the brain.
When your cup was turn’ed over
in the ever broad’ning sea. (4)
Us two souls were bound to wander,
please find your way back to me.

If the baseline is forever
and beauty is just a trance,
then upward flows my river
in my veins your blood will dance.
Oh my ribs are just a bird’s cage
please unhook my silver clasp
I’ll alight to you unbidden
and we’ll be freed at last.

Yet years of silence were unbroken
she snuffed the candle with her hand.
“I think ten years is long enough
to wait for any man.”

(1) The Broken Wand Ceremony is a ceremony performed at the memorial of the death of a magician, a wand is broken, symbolizing that the magic has left this world with the magician who wielded it.

(2) Before Houdini died he and his wife decided on a passcode to authenticate any after death message. This was a line from the play that they were both in when they met “Rosabelle believe.”

(3) “Automatic writing is writing purportedly produced by subconscious and/or spiritual source without the writer being consciously aware of what they are writing about.” Automatic Writing- Wikipedia

(4) The transcendentalists believed that the soul was akin to a chalice containing the soul floating in a great ocean that was the whole of human consciousness. When death came, the cup tipped over and the soul became one with this great ocean.




Information on the Houdini Se'ances
The Broken Wand Ceremony
Automatic Writing

Frostwriting

My poem,
The Interview, is in issue #6 of the digital LitMag, Frostwriting.

The whole issue is really great! Please check it out!

Thaw

It's spring and this whole city smells like an aquarium.
Men like sucker fish stuck to their car windows,
gaping maws of lust and longing.
You'll walk an avenue and fifteen blocks
to see a pale pair of gams
and a smile crooked as a dog's leg.
Sidle up to the spotty silvered bathroom mirror,
practice your very best scowl and scoff.
Some girl will take you home.

go here

"And the dead make perfect astronauts."

StCecilia is Shaking her Head at Me

Published

My poem Interview will be coming out in the literary magazine Frostwriting this month.

Links when I have them.

Poor Edward

Edward Mordrake (alternative spelling: Edward Mordake) was a legendary member of 19th century nobility. According to the story there was another face on the back of his head that could neither eat nor speak. It could however laugh and cry. Edward claimed that the extra face whispered "devilish things" to him in the night, and made his life a living hell. Yet no doctor would remove it due to the fact that it would most likely kill him.

He suffered from a curious case of Craniopagus Parasiticus. A kind of parasitic twin.

At 23 he ended his life and his torment.

A facinating case. To be sure

Poor Edward, the song by Tom Waits

Required Listening

It's All Over Now Baby Blue

Epic "Science Fight"

Warning: Contains lots and lots of swears. But too hilarious/clever not to post.

Says VIP right there

Twin Thing

The first thing you need to know is that they were not identical, but that they looked identical, kind of even dressed identical. Like nobody ever told them that they didn’t have to wear hats and ties to class, and then remove the hat when walking inside. They had a sense of duty that kept them from the conclusion that they didn’t really even have to come to class. That you could smoke a joint on the school lawn for godssake and forget all about Advanced Topics in English Literature and go down to the lake with your friends and that you could tell your professor this and they’d probably laugh.

The first thing you need to understand is that they were both different, but more from everyone else than each other. That they had seen more B-Grade horror flicks than I had seen any movies whatsoever at all. That they had in fact, in their possession, their own personal plan of escape in case of zombie apocalypse and that there were meet-up spots and maps and lists of potential places to hide, and even the necessaries like a flashlight, granola bars, and a bat. I was taking psych 101 so I told them that their plan for zombies was really an exercise to make themselves feel better about not fitting in so well and an escapist fantasy. Don’t think I was insensitive though. The boys were both deeply empathetic and vulnerable but they were not deluded. They knew that there was nobody quite as perfectly like them as one another and that they were “those who are totally not at all like others.”

I decided to be his first girlfriend and that meant less parties, since they didn’t like parties, and less drinking since they didn’t like drinking but more constructing robots out of cardboard that we scrounged and making movies about haunted VCRs. He could draw real good, like a 50’s cartoonist or something and he would draw me little mad scientists with jars full of eyes and he’d write stuff like “I only have eyes for you” and so I loved him pretty well and he did loosen up and start fitting in better which I think made his brother sad since he had right just then dropped out of school because something inside of him just couldn’t make it work and he would sleep all-day. I did try I think to make them both happy. (Because they couldn’t be happy if the other one wasn’t) But in the end there was rock and roll music and real Grade-A movies at the Cineplex and I wanted to skip class and not have a blue eyed fedora wearing detective boy disapprove of me so much all the time and then fall so hard back in love with me when I told him that I changed my coat buttons so they’d look more like hard candies. So I left and it hurt him so bad that they both never did speak to me again at all and after the initial breaking up hurt dissolved I was almost surprised to find that I had a live coal of hurt in my gut that would never extinguish. I missed my friend, who had deadened himselves to me.

I stayed around after graduating, and they lived outside of town so I guess they were around too but I never saw them not really and I would get updates from friends of friends and at first they were very bad and then they were good and then there were no words at all. One day, two years later, before I moved south forever and always I saw him walking through town. I almost called out to him. Raised my arm. Wanted to say…but I dropped my hand, and let him go.

The first thing you need to know is that they were not identical, but they looked identical, and that I felt identical.

And so we nuked the fridge.
and jumped the shark.
and if they can make art into schlock.
I can make schlock into art.

Life Byte 2

Maddog: why's it called writing?

me: Huh?
like the etemology?
I dunno
it's really just creative lying
or decorative stealing