Since radically changing what I eat last year (basically sticking to crazy simplicity, which is something I’ve wanted to do my whole life), I have paradoxically discovered a wider range of things to eat. After leaving behind dairy for a while, I felt a small inkling for eggs, and once I found that my body - not just taste buds - love ‘em, I eat a lot.
Following many months of chicken eggs, I finally picked up quail eggs, and they are damn good. Higher ratio of yolk to white in bite size form. But what initially drew me to them were their beautiful speckled shells. I found myself watching them boiling in the pan, then arranging them in the sun on my floor and gazing longingly at their dappled exteriors. Anyhow, this week I’ve been eating duck eggs (so far I prefer the taste of quail to chicken and duck), and next occasion I have for a party I will try to procure a goose egg. It is the size of about 30 chicken eggs!
However, I was not aware of the extent of my fascination with these little darlings until I began experimenting with some photos today (first two pictures) and realized that what I had made could only be inspired by one thing - that dainty freckled quail’s egg. If only the brown spots on my arms were that pretty. Ok. Go try em. Just 2.5-3 min for a soft boil, 3.5-4 min for a hard boil.
as the summer san francisco fog at last dares lift its veil
we sigh with glimpses of
a face, a cheek, a hand outstreched!
and not far behind through whisper-blocks and sandy echo-corners
we turn toward truth
falling down hills and rolling into the arms of the sea.
here’s the first off (my band) Karte Kinski’s forthcoming full-length album, to be released this winter!
I’m sorry, but none of this is real.
The Analogs, Part I: Alter Ego, Featuring The Analog Lady
your two arms
that once did hug my face
now receive the eternal hug from earth
where i lay thee to rest.
your two temples
to whom my peripheral eye
did pray each day
please receive this final prayer.
your two lenses
that once guarded me
from rain and nats and kisses
may at last let thy guard down.
your mighty bridge
who saved thy body from drowning in
the river of my tears
may now sink into the soft mud.
may you sip whisky by the beach with a sunhat on
in your 1959 plasticine heaven
and look back fondly upon the times we shared
as no one else witnessed them quite like you.
ms. barbry allen carver