Julie

I love dogs
But god I can't stand
The smell

I grew up
With dogs
I wonder why
The smell never
Got to me

The last dog
I loved
Julie
Beautiful lovely Julie
You walked out
With oozing cancer puss
Out the house
Is this what I remember
In some subconscious cell
As a dog smell
A scary child's dream
Of something adult
And not explained
Is this why I love dogs
But hate them too

The caged car
That came calling
Dad said
You need to
be put to sleep
But they couldn't
Wipe
That stink
Which reminded me
Of all the love you gave
Lingering under the stair
They you made home
To die.

But that's the smell
I remember
Julie
How I loved you.

The dog smell.

Mama’s killer pork vindaloo kerala style

So i searched the net for pork vindaloo kerala style ( cause thats the killer shit duh! ) and i found some four totally different recipes and i knew that wasn't how mama makes by looking at the picture. So i called mom and got her recipe. Thats my dinner tonight! 

And for all you folks here is the recipe with a pic.

Thanks mom!

Mama’s killer pork vindaloo kerala style

½ kg – pork, cut in to small cubes. Small!

COLLECTION 1

3 to 4 onions – finely diced

1 or 2 green chilly ( depending on how spicy you want it ) – finely sliced

½ an inch of ginger – finely sliced and crushed

10 cloves of garlic – finely sliced and crushed

COLLECTION 2

the masala mix –

red chilly powder

pepper powder

a pinch of turmeric powder

garam masala

dhaniya ( corriander ) powder

( note -Garam masala, dhaniya - take a table spoon each Pepper - 1 tea spoon Chilly powder - 1/2 teaspoon Turmeric powder - a pinch. ( this should give an idea of proportion. This is for people who don't like it spicy. If you are a true mallu add on a lil more of pepper and chilly powder)

mix the above ( collection 2 ) with 2 table spoon or so of vinegar

black mustard seeds powdered  ( 1/2 teaspoon ) – if you can not find powder, wet it a bit and crush to get rid of its skin ( mom says that’s the way to get the flavor right )

Cooking

Add Coconut oil ( I guess you could add any other sunflower oil types, but then hey this is kerala style )

Let is warm.

Add collection 1 starting with onions. Saute till onions are light brown.

Then add collection 2 and mix the two. Mix! let it all get mixed up! Add salt. Mix.

When its nicely mixed add the pork and mix. Mix. 

If you prefer a bit more vinegar add a teaspoon at the most.

Pressure cook for about 22 minutes.

( Note - As to pressure cooking. Number of whistles might vary. But about 20 to 25 mins on low/med flame should have it cooked just fine. If you find you need the pork more tender after this, i would just cook it for another 5 mins more in the pressure cooker. I also like my pork tangy so I add half a tea spoon of vinegar at the end.)

Killer pork vindaloo ready!

9.618

9.618
The pattern never fails
Just a change in texture
We are all just weaves
In the grandiose design
Gods haute couture
The relationship line

We strut down the ramp
Wearing a new line
Stitched by the same hands
Cut by the same designer
In the end the weave is still the same

A new season, a new fad
The toast of many a night
But summer will go to winter
And a new season will come
When you trade the old for the new
But the weave is still the same
9.618

A bad day

“You gotta take me home
and fuck me good
or I will go mad.”
The words rolled
out her lips
like the sudden burst
of moisture
from an unexpected
erotic alarm
going off.

She gazed at me
lazily scrapping off
dead skin tissues
from under her
long sharp
scarlet nails.
Remnants from
last nights
cocaine addled
leather and rope dinner.

My best days
are when she has
a really bad day
at work.

There is something
to be said
about really bad
management.

Keep up
the good work
clueless
strutting boys
in ties and suits.

BOUND

I can still taste you
On my lips
In my mouth
Under the pores of my tongue

I can feel the pain
Nibbling away
Sinking in
Biting down

My fingers
Are still rolling around
In the cascade
Of your need

All I can see
As I gaze blankly
Is your eyes like slits
And your parted lips

Your cherry smell
Wafting around in my brain
Intoxicating me further
And further

Let me just lie down
For a few minutes
Of death
So I can be back in heaven.

I AM

I’m a stormy night
A knot too tight
Something that can’t be right

I’m a coral in blue water
Something that shouldn’t matter
Not one for ever after

I’m a fall on a satday night
A jealous midnight fight
A hug too tight

I’m a cold draught
Lust that is fraught
A lesson best not taught

I’m a book you are ashamed of
A song you are shy of
A painting that gets you off

But it is just all of you
That is all of me.

The A to Z of my life.

A can only be for Art. My first love.

B is for all three of my babies. Three original works of art!

C is for a precious, cherished, safe, warm and very loving childhood.

D is for derrieres. Nothing is the world is as beautiful as a lovely butt on a woman.

E is for English. A language without which I couldn’t have taken countless journeys through books.

F is for fashion. Everyone must look good. It will make for a delightful world.

G is for groove! Music, my teacher, mentor, mistress, therapist and time travel capsule. I wouldn’t be me without it.

H is for history. For the holocaust. For all that is past that is defining our future. History in all forms, books, architecture, art that takes you to a mystical, magical place.

I is for all kinds of ink. Ink in calligraphy pens, ink on skin, things inked in the heart.

J is for Jim.

K is for kodaikanal and the madness of youth. Dirt bikes, long treks, magic mushrooms, marijuana and heartbreaks.

L is for falling in love. That hopeless feeling that in contrast is only full of hope. That which you think you will never ever have when you go through a heartbreak but which walks in through your door silently and gives you a warm hug that’s all tingly too.

M is the greatest woman in the world. My mother. Warm hugs, warm cooking, warm smiles, warm tuck in’s, warm soups when you are sick.

N is for nights lit with candles. Nights of silent tears. Nights of hands brushed against skin that is full of promise. Nights that are epic, legendary and is a huge part of my history if I ever write down my memoirs.

O is a blank now. Something to be filled in the future then?

P is for princess! My greatest joy!

Q is for quaint. For quaint old houses. Furniture. Florence. Flowerpots. Birdhouses. Picket fences. Door knockers. And the eternal romance it brings.

R is for the distant rumble of thunder that is anticipation of a brewing storm.

S is for all the women with names starting with ‘S’ that have walked in to my life and left a mark. Starting with my mother.

T is travel. All those journeys taken and yet to be taken.

U is for unwinding. For lazing around on the couch, cuddling and watching movies and just dozing off and for making lazy love.

V is for Valejo and his erotic art.

W is for water. It is me. It is the sea. It is the storm. It is the drink. It is the lakes and the rivers. It is a waterfall. It is tears.

X is a kiss. Little ones. Long drawn out ones. Wet ones. Hard ones. Tender ones.

Y is for yesterdays and all the memories.

And Z can only be a blessedly good snug sleep.