Getting Back to Her

She forgot how to have fun

She forgot how to smile

Moaning, griping, bitching

Tired, dirty wasted place

No one seems to give a shit

Busy buried in internet space

7 am

She wakes alive

Her heart’s beating 

She’ll do something different today

Baby, she’s running

And you’re holding her hand

She’s all glittered up and laughing

Masses of friends

Enveloped in joy

Gentle touches, grateful eyes

Dancing and singing

Throats parched dry 

Feet aching, backs tweaking

Don’t let it end

Cool damp air

Rushes upon them

Wrists twinkling with traffic lights

Wanting to walk forever 

She found herself tonight

Inspired by My Secret Garden. Photograph by Lars Van de Goor.

My Secret Garden

Fear of identity theft got me worried enough to purchase my own paper shredder, figuring that if I was still expected to recycle my personal records, at least I could discourage the more casual fraudsters.

Next was to hide those shredded records at the bottom of the blue bin and pile it high with junk mail and fliers. Finally, the best advice I heard was to mix all the most critical stuff up with your compost—a stupid mistake, since now, every spring, when the wind blows through the garden, it whispers those secrets to every one of my neighbours.

Inspired by Food for Thought. Image by Image Creator.

Food for Thought

Phil and I were texting about hispi cabbage. Seconds later, the offending vegetable appeared on his Insta account.

     “Like, chill guys,” he said.

They won’t. Last year after a few Misko admonishments of ”None of your sass, Jordan.” I got a Ticketmaster ad. Currently, I’m flooded with knitting, Deadly Uncle memes, and uber atavistic period pants. Period Pants? Since I’m also targeted for incontinence products and thigh shapers, I guess it means I’m not completely profiled.

     So how about I throw them a bone? 

     Siri, where can I buy:

     — Caged glass

     — Vintage Tool

     — Merino Balaclavas

     — Mary Beard

     — World Peace? 

Inspired by Eat, Live, Whatever. Image of Nipper and His Master’s Voice by Francis Barraud.

Eat, Live, Whatever

I relish new culinary experiences, but I found cooking Kraft Dinner and pork ’n beans in one pot a disappointment. I ate it anyway. When I lived without refrigeration in Africa, I learned that piri-piri chilies can mask the taste of rotten meat; also, that overcooking is your friend. Those were good times. While backpacking in Scotland, I discovered canned haggis at Tesco. The ingredient list was off-putting, but the product was passable, if overly grey. Recently, watching me cook, my daughter asked, “Are you ‘live to eat,’ Dad, or ‘eat to live?’” Poor lass. She already knew the answer.

Inspired by Ode to Bread. Image scavenged from Reddit.

Ode to Bread (or Gluten-free Toast Tastes Like Slightly Warm Rice Loaf)

The evening before I took the blood test for Celiac, I pigged out on bread—a crusty warm-from-the-oven slathered in real butter sourdough. Toast had been my comfort—morning, noon, and night. Whole wheat with banana, eggs on rye, grilled cheese, Montreal bagel with cream cheese, pain au chocolat, baguette, pumpernickel—all turned against me, churned my stomach, made me choke on acid reflux, hurt my head and fogged my brain. I knew I had Celiac before I took the test, and long before my doctor confirmed it. But like a junkie, I had to have just one last fix.

Inspired by Superhero Diet. Photo by Nancy.

Superhero Diet

3:00 p.m. rise

3:05 Mountain Dew while on Insta, X

3:45 tiktok

3:50 another can of Mountain Dew, vape

4:05 cup coffee, vape

4:15 tiktok

4:16 Mountain Dew, vape

4:30 tiktok

4:54 tiktok

5:05 tiktok, X

5:11 Mountain Dew, vape

5:30 grape soda

5:45 tiktok

6:00 CBD to take the edge off the day

9:00 start commenting on tiktok seriously

10:00 THC

11:00 Mountain Dew, tiktok,THC

11:30 tiktok, etc.

12:00 commenting on TikTok, X

12:05-6:00 a.m. THC, coffee, vaping, Cheetos, vitamin C powder, continuous pornographic movies

6:00 bath tub - Mountain Dew, Lindt chocolate balls, Popeyes chicken leftovers

8:20 sleep

─────────
Inspired by Hunter S. Thompson's Daily Routine and Le P. Photo by Fred Ni.

Le P

Dinners out with my aunt and cousins in the early ’80s are memories that linger fondly. Eating at a restaurant was a rarity for us—my then 33 year-old single dad with three kids under the age of 12.
     It was woody, dark and cavernous with tacky saloon doors and an over-powering aroma of gravy.
     I barely remember the dinners, but I do remember the desserts. Holding my cafeteria tray, I would stare in awe through the finger-smeared plexiglass at the deluge of choice. Mostly jellos of various artificial colours with perfectly placed globs of chemical whip cream.
     Ponderosa. 

Inspired by Voss. Photo by 2womenwithapast on eBay.