a lonely white balloon sinks into the intersection, and the turning car sighs, waits in the shade. indirect lighting and a moment’s hesitation. it’s the fear of knowing, more than not, that makes you cautious and guarded, unguarded and disarming.
there are levels, but you never notice on the descent. at a certain point you stopped thinking beyond the two-dimensional arrows of your keyboard. you bob in the clear dark water, up and down and side to side, to stay in place because it’s scary around the cragged edge of the cliff face. the depth is hard to gauge in the towering ocean of trees, but it dawns on you there is a different plane on which to measure light. it’s more like the feeling of sun when the shadows are too cold to forget your jacket. i wonder if rooted plants feel this way, amassing potential from rainwater and dirt, but it’s the sun that gives you the energy to do something. the answer becomes expansive, not quite the breeze blowing through sheer curtains, relentless, aimless energy, but a mirrored perspective that elongates as it wraps upwards. you see yourself against a field of blurried green and think this is a different sense of calm. are the leaves also told to press down to float up and where does this land along the line that stretches impossibly into the horizon. someone’s answer faded before you really took it in, and you worry, you shouldn’t, about the missing words. things are so different without walls, and the question becomes how to slip onto the next page. you dissolve or evaporate, sink or sigh.
– feed me
lunch made by other people; miso ramen and Sapporo; manhattans with dark cherries; burgers with the right bun on repeat; butter lettuce and dino kale; red peppers; many preparations of fried chicken; fresh almond milk and knock-off reese’s pb puff cereal; toast.
i finally made the apple cake i wrote about last time; & because i waited, i had beautiful farmers market apples to use and a perfect, new-to-me (LT!), opal glass baking dish.
pillow-y apple cake
via dorie greenspan but with changes
pour a gingerly measured ¾ c AP flour into small bowl, and mix with ¾ tsp baking powder and a pinch of salt. pull out a pretty glass baking dish that you’ll serve this from, and if you remember now, pour a tiny amount of neutral oil to slip it up. now you can peel and core four apples—anything soft like a Cortland is ideal here, but you do you—and eventually cut up into bite-sized chunks. it moves quickly from here, so preheat the oven to 350F now. in a big bowl, with high sides if you can, whisk 2 eggs until they’re frothy, then keep whipping until they become a marshmallow-y sort of foam. at this point add in ¾ c sugar (still a foam) and 1 tsp vanilla + 3 tbs dark rum (reverts to liquid-y). alternate half of the flour mixture with half of ½ c neutral oil until both are gone and incorporated with the eggs: the consistency turns into thick pancake batter vibes. now you can fold in the cut apples, turning to coat thoroughly in the mixture. pour into the glass dish, making sure that everything is spread evenly / looks nice. bake for 50 mins – 1 hr, but honestly if you can smell the cake you might as well check on it. done when golden brown on top and not a liquid at the bottom. eat in the fall.
– read me
A Room of One’s Own, Updated, via nm.
A Pioneering Black Ballerina’s Life Story Comes to the Stage, Kayla Stewart on Lauren Anderson.
Manazuru, Hiromi Kawakami. this is exactly the book I needed it to be. the prose is simple, and the plot appealingly revolves around nothing. this nothing could be described as the absence of the narrator’s missing husband or in her relationship with her adolescent daughter, but as you tunnel through her increasingly surreal encounters with a coastal village, you lose track of time. there’s a progression without movement, and movement that swirls without going forward. i loved it, and now am at a loss for what to read next.