Anally Yours

I’m not a social animal
I have numerous dislikes

Can’t stand the sound of slurping
Or bone-chewing or bites

I keep a tidy boudoir
I clean from floor to floor

And ten seconds after a visitor leaves
I tend to clean some more

I no longer like clubs and parties
Not because they are too loud

There are too many people
Spreading germs within the crowd

I don’t mind a little company
As long as they don’t stay

Unless it’s dinner and a movie
Guests only have one hour to go away

I like to have things done, in a certain way
I will not make a fuss if someone causes disarray

But when the person visits
A second time or more

I will certainly not allow them
To share, or serve, or pour

I manage conversation
With much dignity and flare

But for long, monotonous, nonsensical verse
I certainly do not care

I love my bed so dearly
I toss and turn and flay

So I’ll certainly won’t appreciate
Any boulders in my way

My phone has many numbers
A list from A to Z

But in exchanging them
I warn, “You won’t get any calls from me.”

I love working on the computer
I love reading giant books

I love writing prose and music
I love curling up in nooks

I love singing
I love cleaning
I love stretching on my bed

I love hiking
I love walking
But I’ll look at the pictures instead

It’s amazing the great feeling
Of doing what you do

Without anyone over your shoulder
Wanting to know what’s new

All my favourites
All my enjoyments

All the things I love to do

Seems to need no interloper,
Seems to need no other ‘you’

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Nothing More to be Said

When I was silent

They judged me for the things I didn’t say

They deemed me wicked

Underhanded

Sinister

Disgusting

Not to be trusted

One day I spoke up

I said what was on my mind

They judged me

On the cracking of my voice

From lack of use

On the nerves

That shone through

My sometimes erratic,

Low-volumed

Speech

I spoke

And they deemed me crazy

Rude

Unstable

Idiotic

Ridiculous

Confused

Unworthy

Now I just look

Stare blankly

And shut them out

One by one

Day by day

Saying less

As they sit and wonder

What I’m thinking

Ancient Athletes

They sought to achieve
nothing short
of physical,
if not visual perfection.
Each,
a contoured mass of sinew,
rippling,
glistening
every sprint
every stretch.
Muscles flexing
mountainous shoulders,
abdomens in constant uproar
the troubled seas of the Atlantic;
thighs exuding
trunk-like strength –
an inspiration to modern-day nutcrackers.
The physique,
a testimony of virility,
down to the very essence of
masculinity;
a veritable feast for the eyes

A sample of Mom’s telling off…

“If your love of food
Was as great
As your love for words”,
My mother said to me,
“You would no doubt be
The most celebrated writer
In the universe.”

“If your gluttony
Was as intense
As your passion for literature!”
She exclaimed
“You would,
Beyond question,
Be the world’s
Most recognized orator.
Because,
Like me,
You would not be able
To stifle this love within.
You would want to share it with the world.”

“I need nothing more
To confirm”, she stated,
“That you take after your father.”

The love of food

Loving food has nothing to do with ‘stuffing your face’. That’s just greed. In some cases it’s a psychological defect.

I know it’s a bit early in the script to sideline my own topic, but as of today, please do me a favor, do not call greedy people pigs.

I can't help how I eat...I'm a pig...
Pigs have no choice in the manner in which they eat. Pigs, unlike us, are not in control of their feeding times. Their caretakers, I’m sure, have such schedules, so that by the time feeding time comes around, the last meal has already been utterly and completely digested; so their ravenous consummation of food can be excused. Greedy people are just greedy people…

The love of food is about appreciation for ingredients, inhaling aromas, being stimulated by tastes, textures and smells and scents.

Hmmm

A lover of food is a visionary; a person, who, after identifying all the necessary ingredients to make the selected dish, can visualize what this meal will look like, smell like, taste like, and how the palate should respond to the variant textures of the food.

To love food, you must be willing to try everything once. In doing so, you open yourself up to the odd food poisoning, the automatic gag reflex, the rare moments of “I can’t believe that people actually eat this stuff.”

bug sushi...nice
On the plus side, you discover new cultures, appreciate the traditions of others, explore a world of flavours and most often, you find “home”; that taste that you can never deny, that texture that you crave consistently, that dish that you can’t live without.

I know it seems that there is a lot of consummation on this journey, but you will soon find that your passion is more for creating and replicating than for consummation. This is why, when I cook, I love to watch others eat what I’ve created. I do not see this as some deep-seeded need to make myself feel good, most of the time I’ve got my fingers crossed behind my back thinking “Please don’t make them ill…please, please, please.” This is why I tell all my acquaintances that every dish I create is an experiment, even though I may have cooked the same meal a thousand times.

My passion for food has given me a zeal for travelling. I want to explore the world, dive into its millions of cultures and traditions, get to know its people, create new dishes, and ultimately feed the world. Ambitious…don’t you think? 🙂

I must admit that I was not this passionate about food all my life. It took me a while to get here. I was like every other little kid who wouldn’t eat anything green and thought that broccoli tasted like grass (that was before I actually tasted broccoli). I used to make myself sick when I was forced to eat red beans, and then I would say “See, see, I told you so.”

It was not until I was 11 years old that I began to develop my love and appreciation for food. I was on my way to school one morning when I spotted and Okra plant with its fruits dangling close to the ground. Now, if you lived in my time, as a kid, the only time you saw anything of Okra is when it was all slimy and gooey and disgusting in soup or some concoction your gran told you tasted better than it looked.

my saviour

I don’t know what came over me that morning, but I thought to myself “I wonder if it’s really all that bad.” The next thing I knew, I was plucking a couple of Okra’s off the plant and biting into it. We are talking pesticide and fertilizer-free food here people. Needless to say, it was fantastic. From that moment, all my food-related inhibitions were demolished. Don’t get me wrong, I am careful about what I try, but I am always willing to try…

The next time you find yourself being the chef du jour, take a moment to visualize what your meal will taste like, smell like, feel like…The ultimate satisfaction from food is to quell hunger; however, there is no greater pleasure in the culinary world than being able to eat what you have created or to watch others take pleasure in your creation. It’s all about the love…

sweet

Depression – stage: serious counselling required

It baffles me as to how a person’s day can be so consumed by sadness. The odd smile or smirk from a memory, a sound, or a sight is so quickly forgotten; lost in the dense fog of melancholy that drains the life out of any atom of happiness; that may, through defiance only, dare to exist in this dim, grim world.

Bearing this mood is an exercise in futility. I do not bear it; it feeds off me. I feel the weight of it ; on my chest, on my back, in my head. It makes me drowsy, unmotivated, uninspired. When I awake to an empty room, I wonder why I’m here. At work, I think to myself, “This is not where I want to be.”

I hardly ever smile. Not that I’m serious, thoughtful, worried, or making important decisions. My face doesn’t work. The energy it takes to smile feels like exhaustion after running a mile. And even when I manage to accomplish it, it disappears so rapidly, that it seems that I never smiled.

I feel lethargic. The only place I want to be is in my bed. All snug under the covers, as the world rambles on without me. “They don’t need me,” I think, “They are better off without me.” I want to close my eyes now, jus close my eyes and disappear…