What the Hell am I Eating?

It's not langpo, it's my lunch: "Chicken Scallop Mousse Terrine." Which seems to bear an alarming resemblance to Tuna Noodle Casserole. Or Brahmin Spam. Accompanied by Radiccio Salad with Smoked Gouda and Pecans.

What was it about eating the food in Hell?

Surly

I am deeply dissatisfied with my hair today. My skin is pasty and broken-out. I think I'm somehow going through puberty AGAIN...

And the weather outside is like Jack Frost's armpit...

Virtual Walk Home

Last night walking home from the err...bar...I thought it would be a good idea to document my journey with the digicam. I haven't quite gotten the hang of the camera yet, so only a few of them came out. Today it seems far less interesting than it did last night.

Anyway, my walk home:

"I Have a Miniature Secret Camera"

Blogger's block.

Am planning something exciting when I can get home to my home computer, involving my new little toy:

Watching TV last night i saw Wycleff Jean perform a song in a manner vaguely reminiscent of Leon Thomas, and for a moment I smiled. Leon Thomas, peeps, it doesn't get any better than Leon Thomas...

From the introduction to Keith Douglas: The Complete Poems:

"The masters at his first school found him difficult: 'bumptious and aggresive', too bitingly critical, too unorthodox, too fond of his own fantastic methods, too clever for his own good. His next school, Christ's Hospital, only managed to contain him by being exceptionally forgiving and flexible. His biography helps us to understand this. His whole childhood can be seen both as a nursery for his peculiar alienation, or what he called his 'long pain', and as a forcing house for the unusual strain of independence in his character. He pondered this a good deal, partly because he could see how much dislike it provoked. From quite an early age he showed an acute awareness of somehow having to manage inside himself some extra thing that was almost unmanageable."

"I LISTEN TO THE DESERT WIND

I listen to the desert wind
that will not blow her from my mind;
the stars will not put down a hand,
the moon's ignorant of my wound

moving negligently across
by clouds and cruel tracts of space
as in my brain by nights and days
moves the reflection of her face.

Like a bird my sleepless eye
skims the sands who now deny
the violent heat they have by day
and she denies her former way

all the elements agree
with her, to have no sympathy
for my impertinent misery
as wonderful and hard as she.

O turn in the dark bed again
and give to him what once was mine
and I'll turn as you turn
and kiss my swarthy mistress pain.

- Wadi Natrun, [October 1942] --Keith Douglas."

Gosh, in Russia all you have to do is nail a shoe to a post...

CAMBODIAN MAN CUTS OFF PENIS TO FEED SPIRITS
Mon Mar 29, 3:01 AM ET

PHNOM PENH (Reuters) - A Cambodian man cut off his penis when he said he was visited by four hungry spirits in a dream and he had no chicken or duck to offer them.

According to police, 33-year-old Soun Ney told the spirits to go away when they first appeared to ask for food, and waved his penis at them in defiance.

"Devils, I don't have any chicken or duck for you," he was quoted as saying by local police chief Phoeung Vat. "If you want to eat anything, you can eat my penis."

Soun Ney said the spirits agreed to eat his penis. He was rushed to a hospital near the capital Phnom Penh after he castrated himself with a butcher's knife.

"He is lucky to be alive," Phoeung Vat told Reuters.

Villagers in the deeply impoverished southeast Asian traditionally offer chicken, duck or cake to the spirits of the dead to ward off bad luck.

Cooking with Meat and Soda

Sweet & Sour Meatballs, 7-UP Pound Cake & The Champagne of Beers...

Am psyched to have rediscovered Ruins' "Symphonica": Yes meets grindcore meets Beijing opera meets Rogers & Hammerstein, performed by stoned Japanese people. Absolutely brilliant.