creative insecurity

horseradish is having a ~moment in the sun~ right now. trendy ingredient! culinary style watch!!

So dreaming about a kitchen is dreaming about the core things that keep you alive. This isn’t a dream about “being happy”. It’s a dream about surviving. Something is serious in your life, something that is causing an incredible drain on you. This drain is just as serious as a lack of vitamin C causing scurvy. Something is missing from your life, something is sapping your energy.

It’s time to look through what is going on in your life and make sure you are getting all the nutrients you need to live.

just a heads up that taking a shower at the gym in one of those scary naked areas can be mad therapeutic and empowering and every woman 20 years old or older should do it and like disengage for a sec with all the ~body image~ shit. bless.

I’ve had to wait several weeks to let this one settle, but the story burrowed deep in my heart and even now my thoughts will drift toward Ava. An oil tanker worth of ink has already been spilled about how haunting this novel and its inhabitants are, but when something’s right, it’s fucking right. Basically I loved this book, loved it because it’s a simple story of a family falling apart and coming back together, but that narrative skeleton is dressed up in astonishing Day of the Dead style garb; fantastic ornamentation that belies the intensely dark shadows of this story. I chainsawed through the final ~100 pages in a couple hours on a gloomy Saturday morning a few weeks ago, and after it was over, I felt that grim, numb sense of lack that is familiar to anyone who’s ever gone through a true ordeal. The traumas in this book are not to be taken lightly, but craftsmanship and linguistic joy spilling off every page means you’ll remember this book with a bittersweet fondness. Will read again, do recommend.

I’ve had to wait several weeks to let this one settle, but the story burrowed deep in my heart and even now my thoughts will drift toward Ava. An oil tanker worth of ink has already been spilled about how haunting this novel and its inhabitants are, but when something’s right, it’s fucking right. Basically I loved this book, loved it because it’s a simple story of a family falling apart and coming back together, but that narrative skeleton is dressed up in astonishing Day of the Dead style garb; fantastic ornamentation that belies the intensely dark shadows of this story. I chainsawed through the final ~100 pages in a couple hours on a gloomy Saturday morning a few weeks ago, and after it was over, I felt that grim, numb sense of lack that is familiar to anyone who’s ever gone through a true ordeal. The traumas in this book are not to be taken lightly, but craftsmanship and linguistic joy spilling off every page means you’ll remember this book with a bittersweet fondness. Will read again, do recommend.

i think it’s time that we all come together as global citizens of this one magnificient planet and admit out loud, in a supportive and compassionate environment, that wraps are fucking terrible. the moment for sandwich monogamy has come, and i for one am proud to publicly proclaim my loyalty to the superior lunch. 

seriously, fuck wraps, and ESPECIALLY fuck vegetarian wraps. get your fucking head on right, it’s 2013, let’s do one thing right okay jesus.

old grandpa cheetah never did allow the youngsters to get too rowdy on his watch

old grandpa cheetah never did allow the youngsters to get too rowdy on his watch

(via theanimalblog)

If we look once again at our gut response to a woman on the road we can see that its substrate is exile. A man on the road is caught in the act of a becoming. A woman on the road has something seriously wrong with her. She has not “struck out on her own.” She has been shunned. And once one person has shunned her, the next will as well. Simply the fact that she is out there says something about her is frightening.