the pillow book

listen

yes,
us people are just poems
we're 90% metaphor
with a leanness of meaning
approaching hyper-distillation
and once upon a time
we were moonshine
rushing down the throat of a giraffe
yes, rushing down the long hall
despite what the p.a. announcement says
yes, rushing down the long hall
down the long stairs
in a building so tall
that it will always be there
it's part of a pair
there on the bow of noah's ark
the most prestigious couple
just kickin back parked
against a perfectly blue sky
on a morning beatific
in its indian summer breeze
on the day that america
fell to its knees
after strutting around for a century
without saying 'thank you'
or 'please'

and the shock was subsonic
and the smoke was deafening
between the setup and the punch line
cuz we were all on time for work that day
we all boarded that plane for to fly
and then while the fires were raging
we all climbed up on the windowsill
and then we all held hands
and jumped into the sky

and every borough looked up when it heard the first blast
and then every dumb action movie was summarily surpassed
and the exodus uptown by foot and motorcar
looked more like war than anything i've seen so far
so far
so far
so fierce and ingenious
a poetic specter so far gone
that every jackass newscaster was struck dumb and stumbling
over 'oh my god' and 'this is unbelievable' and on and on
and i'll tell you what, while we're at it
you can keep the pentagon
you can keep the propaganda
keep each and every tv
that's been trying to convince me
to participate
in some prep school punk's plan to perpetuate retribution
perpetuate retribution
even as the blue toxic smoke of our lesson in retribution
is still hanging in the air
and there's ash on our shoes
and there's ash in our hair
and there's a fine silt on every mantle
from hell's kitchen to brooklyn
and the streets are full of stories
sudden twists and near misses
and soon every open bar is crammed to the rafters
with tales of narrowly averted disasters
and the whiskey is flowin
like never before
as all over the country
folks just shake their heads
and pour

so here's a toast to all the folks who live in palestine
afghanistan
iraq

el salvador

here's a toast to the folks living on the pine ridge reservation
under the stone cold gaze of mount rushmore

here's a toast to all those nurses and doctors
who daily provide women with a choice
who stand down a threat the size of oklahoma city
just to listen to a young woman's voice

here's a toast to all those folks on death row right now
awaiting the executioner's guillotine
who are shackled there with dread and can only escape into their heads
to find peace in the form of a dream

peace in the form of a dream

cuz take away our playstations
and we are a third world nation
under the thumb of some blue blood royal son
who stole the oval office and that phony election
i mean
it don't take a weatherman
to look around and see the weather
jeb said he'd deliver florida, folks
and boy did he ever

and we hold these truths to be self evident:
#1 george w. bush is not president
#2 america is not a true democracy
#3 the media is not fooling me
cuz i am a poem heeding hyper-distillation
i've got no room for a lie so verbose
yes, i'm looking out over my whole human family
and i'm raising my glass in a toast

here's to our last drink of fossil fuels
may we vow to get off of this sauce
shoo away the swarms of commuter planes
and find that train ticket we lost
cuz once upon a time the line followed the river
and peeked into all the backyards
and the laundry was waving
and the graffiti was teasing us
from brick walls and bridges
we were rolling over ridges
through valleys
under stars
i dream of touring like duke ellington
in my own railroad car
i dream of waiting on the tall blonde wooden benches
in a grand station aglow with grace
and then standing out on the platform
and feeling the air on my face

give back the night its distant whistle
give the darkness back its soul
give the big oil companies the finger finally
and relearn how to rock-n-roll
yes, the lessons are all around us and the truth is waiting there
so it's time to pick through the rubble, clean the streets
and clear the air
get our government to pull its big dick out of the sand
of someone else's desert
put it back in its pants
and quit the hypocritical chants of
'freedom forever'

cuz when one lone phone rang
in two thousand and one
at ten after nine
on nine one one
which is the number we all called
when that lone phone rang right off the wall
right off our desk and down the long hall
down the long stairs
in a building so tall
that the whole world turned
just to watch it fall

and while we're at it
remember the first time around?
the bomb?
the ryder truck?
the parking garage?
the princess that didn't even feel the pea?
remember joking around in our apartment on avenue D?

'can you imagine how many paper coffee cups would have to change their design
following a fantastical reversal of the new york skyline?!'

it was a joke
at the time

and that was just a few years ago
so let the record show
that the FBI was all over that case
that the plot was obvious and in everybody's face
and scoping that scene
religiously
the CIA
or is it KGB?
committing countless crimes against humanity
with this kind of eventuality
as its excuse
for abuse after expensive abuse
and they didn't have a clue
look, another window to see through
way up here
on the 104th floor
look
another key
another door
10% literal
90% metaphor
3,000 some poems disguised as people
on an almost too-perfect day
should be more than pawns
in some asshole's passion play
so now it's your job
and it's my job
to make it that way
to make sure they didn't die in vain

sshhhhhh....
baby, listen
hear the train?



//ani difranco, 2001

...I just can't help myself.

I don't know, I just like this song, okay.

As I am a lazy bum and still haven't finished resizing all my photos from New Orleans, have some food instead!

The Boy and I found a little ramen place in a neighboring city. It's...not great. But we don't really have very good restaurants, as a rule, in the East Bay. But, shortly thereafter, my mother found an article in the Food section of the Chronicle about ramen, listing off a few local recipes, including a vegetarian version.

So I made it. It took all freaking day, and I bought and used celery root for the first time.


Celery Root-Miso Ramen
by Chef Richie Nakano of Hapa Ramen

Serves 4

Ingredients

2 oz dried kombu
1.5 gallons water
2 med celery roots, peeled and diced
4 Tbsp vegetable oil
2 med carrots, roughly chopped
2 yellow onions, medium diced
1 head garlic, halved horizontally
1 2-inch piece of ginger, peeled and sliced
1 cup white miso
5 cloves garlic, minced
Kosher salt and pepper to taste
Store-bought fresh ramen noodles, cooked

Toppings as desired (I used grated radish, blanched pea sprouts and baby bok choy, nori, scallions, and some seaweed strips I forget the name of)

Instructions

Wipe the kombu with a wet cloth, then combine it with the water in a large stock pot. Bring to a simmer, remove from heat and let steep 1 hour. Strain through a fine mesh strainer.

Meanwhile, preheat oven to 350. Toss celery root in 2 Tbsp of the oil, then spread onto a roasting pan. Toss carrots and onions in remaining oil and spread them onto another roasting pan. Place both pans in the oven and bake until the vegetables are tender and slightly browned. (It took about 30-40 minutes for me.)

In batches, pour the kombu broth into a blender and blend with the roasted celery root. Return the pureed broth to the stockpot; add the roasted carrots and onions, the garlic and the ginger. Bring to a simmer, and simmer until broth is reduced by about one-third.

In a mixing bowl, whisk about 1 cup of the broth with the miso; add to the stockpot along with the minced garlic. Simmer a few minutes to blend, then strain the broth into another pot and season to taste with salt and pepper.

To serve, pour about 2 cups of broth over prepared noodles; top as desired.

Aaaahhhh go here before it's gone! --> http://ftsl2000.blog.me/