planning my day &over-thinking life.
I'm in such an awfully awkward mood. and this hybred fruit I'm eatting is just confusing my tastebuds. its the size of an apple, which is obviously how it receives it's first name. yet it's skin is a light orange, soft. the color the sky first starts to turn when the day suddenly starts to slip into dusk. you sink your teeth into it &the flesh is supple, juicy; not unlike a pear, which no doubt is where it recieves it's surname. but I'm instantly reminded of a peach, as sweet sticky light juices drip while trying to consume. a slight challange to do gracefully. but it's the taste the boggles my brain. As i told anna when she first made me try it:
"tastes like white grapes".
so if it were up to me, this fruit would not be named such a name. why is it that I can only think of colors when I search for descriptive words to describe the unique flavor of this fruit?
--if light champange tinted blush peach had a flavor, I imanage it tasting like this.
but that's a ridiclous idea; colors don't have a taste.
I don't know why i've been feeling this way such a paticularly odd mood..
bit implusive. so I took a trip to the thrift stores, because sometimes I find solace in the cludder. I like to meander amongst the shelves of peoples unwanted objects, and wonder what their lives were like before they ended up destined to be on these shelves. waiting for someone to come find a place for them once again. some of it's obviously been over looked. old presents or something of that nature, that the recepitant really never desired. some of it, espically with the clothes, you can tell was once loved. jeans with wallet fades in the left back pocket. or threadbare sweaters that were first choice when the weather turned cold. more have sad stories. jeans bought but never worn; they must have never fit. and someone gave up hope in trying to fit into them. how much of these nik-nak's and old dressers ended up here because their owners no longer had the room to give them a home..
I could spend hours looking at the second hand books. the ones with barely a spine left. read over and over again. why these books no longer sleep on the shelves of the owner, who got lost in their pages so many times before, i will never know. i always have to dedicate time to the old cookbooks. some with the corners of their pages still dog earred. or if youre lucky, youll pick up one where the pervious owner wrote notes in the margins. "try using light brown sugar instead." obviously some cookbooks have found their way here since they've become outdated. I could probably wall paper my whole apartment with the covers of all the "microwave magic" cookbooks I found. but amongst the 1985 good home& garden cookbooks and low sugar! high flavor! : there's the community church compiled cookbooks with the plastic bindings. those are the gold. of course I want the recipe to aunt milleys country style cornbread. i get this from my mom. since I can remember she's dragged me to every estate sale, garage sale, and thrift store she's found. I used to hate it. after an hour I'd get bored and restless, which meant my mom would get upset. but I learned to love it. the way shed take time to look in the same spot, and find treasures others carelessly over looked. espically the cookbooks, with the specialized notes. "new years eve?"- wonder if anyone actually made transparent pie & which year they enjoyed it in. copyright 1984.
I ended up spending $9.84 on the items I found. amongst these included an orange hand-painted seashell ashtray, to replace the brozen one I left him in the move. two cookbooks. "hometown favorites cookbook", the title page informs me in was published to benefit MADD. && a cookbook entitled "100% pleasure: from appetizers to desserts, the low-fat cookbook for people who love to eat" because #1. how can you turn down that title? #2 i love to eat. first recipe I turned to when I opened it up, was spicy crab cakes. I was sold. I also bought two other items. completely impluse &im not sure which I'm more excited about. the first i found right as soon as we walked in the door. a HUGE iron on design of a rainbow trout, leaping out of the water. OMFG. made by tender tees. "now anyone can paint a tee shirt". epic win. copyright 1988. the other ones a cd. never heard the band. or even reconize it. the case just jumped out at me. neon green. in blurry, hardly legibile font: raise the pressure. written on the spine. I opened up to the cover book to find this: sometime in 1996 this, what it is, I do not yet know. a collection of accumlated knowledge, ideas, memories, fact, surmise... who knows. anyway, what I once considered private, seems to be public. late the next night and I've just woken up to this most unsatisying thought... one has to be a bastard to exist in this world full of them, but then I've always had the suspicion I took myself too seriously until I found myself too serious to take. tonight is a horrible day. I have discovered the true meaning of two words: power and greed; power is in sex, also in drugs. power is the feeling when something happens in return for little effort, i.e. an assassin firing a gun or a junky shooting up, etc. the participant gets off on the execution just as much as the end result. greed comes dressed in a velvet glove, greed is not the want to possess everything, greed is simply wanting more then the person next to you. later cruelty occurs when people lose touch with the real world. in the nineties this is partly due to the fact that we are distanced from reality by a life we do not lead, therefore we are also distanced from one another. we experience the world through television and use drugs to enjoy social communication. we use machines instead of our bodies and then when our bodies fail us, machines keep us alive. when we do not feel life, we do not feel what it is to be alive. we do not feel compassion, our neighbor is invisible. when he suffers, we turn the television off or simply register a blank. existence is a bubble we feel will never burst. we can't decide how to vote because we need a new party. we've abandoned our world in favour of ourselves. we cover the ground in broken glass, then take off our shoes; we need to look again. unempolyment is the final insult to the individual, mass production was the first. our education system is wrong, it takes no note of the subtleties of human nature, it places more importance on the memory of an individual than how memorable an individual is. it does not nuture talent, but rewards those who obey and allows them entrance to an exclusive club. this is wrong. the best are wasted. this is why society is disintegrating. can't you see the spelling doesn't matter, because we are not saying anything anymore. it's called the power of silence, the right to which we lost in 1995."
needless to say I had to buy it. copyright 1996.
if not for those words alone. i haven't bothered to listen to it yet. I can't imanage the type of music that goes along with that; but nothing beats what I anticipate in my mind. i dont know how id feel if i popped it in my cd player & a cookie cutter pop band came out the speakers. the let down would be too much, so maybe I'll never listen to it. the idea that this may be the perfect cd filled with songs i feel, is too much. these songs are filled with words I already know too well. I don't need to listen to the melodies to know this...
i wonder what "visit me" sounds like to this artist; I know too well how it sounds to me.
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