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
and stumble, 
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!

RIP my favorite pair of specs: an ode to WWII developments in plastics and their slow erosion from my salty sweat

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

every time

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.

much love,

ms. barbry allen carver