Thursday, February 10, 2011

The Voodoo Snow Curse Worked, at least in Jersey...

First I have to share a book I just was surprised with on my door step! I often put things I want in our cart, and then look to see how the status is. I forgot about this one, and hubby had it sent.  This author was noted on someone's site, I apologize, because I forgot where I saw this one. Maybe Jessie Carty? Or Book of Kells? Anyway, she has won lots of awards for her prose, so I wanted to study it. I love it! 
Allison Benis White, Self-Portrait With Crayon.

My photo above, well, I decided we needed some vodoo cursing on the snow situation. What better way than to cook some chicken feet! My trainer and I discuss food during workout sessions. He likes to try crazy stuff. Some things I have already been there, done he mentioned chicken feet from the Asian market- I knew hubby would love this one. They were fine, a bit gelatinous for me...I would have preferred fried! I will post more on my food blog soon!

If your just coming over, then you missed two new poems and photos I posted. After taking the one below to my writers round table and Jim K. taking a look at it, I got the same feedback. Needed some serious removal of the mid-section and re-writes on the rest, but over all it got some laughs, which is what I wanted!

Lesbian Zombie Crush

“You are so delicious” she softly said just before I awoke from the dream.

"For the first time I was truly hot for a woman" I thought to myself as she went back for another bite of my lower thigh. In shock I watched it slowly cover her lips. My skin burned as blood and flesh oozed through her teeth. Red was the only color to this black and white vision which animated her tussled appearance.

I blurted out, “I should be, I am a seasoned cook”.

Her eyes grew big, like a toddler reaching over a mother’s lap. She looked up with a strawberry ice cream smile while a cone dripped all over her, me and the floor. A half eaten tongue came out of her wanton mouth while her decaying arm wiped away the drying blood of her last lover. I began to find comfort in the memory of how I became so passionate with food and eating- Not only being educated in the art of cooking, from the beginning of life I was part of eating green. I helped gather my grandmother’s garden of fresh vegetables, beefsteak tomatoes, onions, and fresh grapes draped across the back fence. She cooked and we ate so well in those years. The memory smells covered the stench of rotting flesh that lay about the room.

Snapping back into reality I realized ten others like her had begun gathering around me. It was then I saw something in my attackers messy hair. A shred of Julia Child’s Mastering The Art Of French Cooking Volume One, First Edition. Published the year of my birth. The last flash before I blacked out were these words Beef Bourgogne, page 27- serves 12 on the corner bit of page. I found myself at ease, and thinking "I was in good hands, but felt a good wine should have been chilled, opened, and was in order".

Or, Version #2

I lean in towards her head as she begins to take another bite of my inner thigh. Was it the pain that brought me closer or the curiosity of what she was? In a soft voice she might have whispered, “You are so delicious”, but the sounds of ripping flesh and moaning was all around us. I blurted out to the world, “I should be, I am a seasoned cook you know”. Tears began to well up as she looked up at me with protruding brown eyes. As would a child devouring an ice cream cone at her mother’s side had just looked up with a strawberry smile; lips oozing with redness, and spurting through her teeth, down her chin, and onto the floor.

Somehow I found comfort in my situation knowing my whole upbringing was built around sharing food. It began with my grandmother’s garden, which I lived with my parents on the property in a trailer since birth. How I helped gather, prepare and ate all the bounty grown. And there was my upward training in the culinary field throughout my life. The memory of each flavor and smell helped drown out the stench of rotting flesh around me. It was love.

This woman was taking her time with me, as ten others like her began to surround us. She raised her body and growled at them. No sharing- she let them know I was all hers. Moving in closer I noticed a bit of shredded paper in her tussled hair. I could barely make out the writing…Julia Child’s Mastering The Art Of French Cooking Volume One, First Edition. It was published the year of my birth! The last flash before I blacked out was these words- Beef Bourgogne: Serves 6.

My first guess at comments- Jessie will say this is the start of a great story...heh! Now Jessie, I can totally see this also as a comic book series, with me in a diner situation, and lots of limbs either in my saute pan, or in the waffle maker, or possibly going through a juicer...ewwww!


Jessie Carty said...

Before I even read your comment I said - YES it is a story! This is some high quality flash fiction!!

Debbie said...

I have one word for you . . .submit! :)

farmlady said...

This is great!! I think I like the second version best.
This is really funny in a foodie kind of way....

Annmarie Lockhart said...

I like version 2 better also. My favorite: "No sharing. I was all hers and she let them know it." lol!