“White Castles” As My Son And I Watch “Rick And Morty,” While Space And Time Bubbles And Wobbles Away

Always there waiting when I arrive, though not always visited, not always directly acknowledged and approached like an itinerant believer noticing the grail, but in the end deferring.  Talked of often, gestured toward, but sometimes the car continues, the night passes.  But not tonight.  No, as I raise a glass of Michigan whiskey raised with … Continue reading “White Castles” As My Son And I Watch “Rick And Morty,” While Space And Time Bubbles And Wobbles Away

Traveling Through Winter Dark and Light With Samuel Beckett And Assorted Food Options.

Hours from now I’ll look at my aisle window and believe it’s Venice instead of Stockholm, eighteen-hundred and forty-six instead of two thousand and nineteen, and I’m navigating channels on a gondola in the “City of Water” on my way to a ball in ‘Going to the Ball (San Martino)’.  Also, my name is Joseph … Continue reading Traveling Through Winter Dark and Light With Samuel Beckett And Assorted Food Options.

Cooking the Bog. Day Two With Rust Cohle And Bosnian Rainbows. Darkness In The Wetlands.

Outside the winter wetlands of Sweden continue to breakdown animal and vegetal matter into a rich loam feeding tree, deer, duck and wandering humans.  Inside, I continue to enhance the decay of the world in a pot. A crucial step in the final bog, that rich gumbo broth, occurs with the making of a roux, … Continue reading Cooking the Bog. Day Two With Rust Cohle And Bosnian Rainbows. Darkness In The Wetlands.

A Cup Of Coffee While Translating Tomas Gösta Tranströmer . . . Well, Not All Of Him, Just One Poem And An Appearance By Bob Dylan.

My days begin with coffee.  For close to forty years, my days begin with coffee.  In a previous life, I’m sure I frequented London Coffeehouses of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.  Am I dependent on coffee?  Yes, yes I am.  And yes, since I drink coffee I am cosmopolitan, I believe in the free flow … Continue reading A Cup Of Coffee While Translating Tomas Gösta Tranströmer . . . Well, Not All Of Him, Just One Poem And An Appearance By Bob Dylan.

Nuns Brew And Drink Getting Closer To Thee, Though Not Quite Close Enough, And Thoughts on Woman Made in God’s Image . . . Or Is That God Made In Woman’s Image?

Give this day O Lord to Sister Doris Engelhard who crafts beer 80,000 gallons annually, as brewmaster at Mallersdorf Abbey in Germany.  Contrary to my thoughts on the distance of God in my last post, Sister Doris speaks of a close relationship with the Almighty. She always felt that she had an intimate relationship with God. “I have … Continue reading Nuns Brew And Drink Getting Closer To Thee, Though Not Quite Close Enough, And Thoughts on Woman Made in God’s Image . . . Or Is That God Made In Woman’s Image?

“And Malt Does More Than Milton Can To Justify God’s Ways To Man:” Theological Speculation With Many Great Brews. Part One: Death And Kokytus.

A.E. Housman in “Terence, This Is Stupid Stuff” from A Shropshire Lad has much wisdom to impart, but none of more magnitude and maltiness than the above lines; while Eduard von Grützner oil painting of Monks Drinking Beer In A Cellar portrays our current post out quite nicely–beer and God.  Let’s start down below; let’s start with … Continue reading “And Malt Does More Than Milton Can To Justify God’s Ways To Man:” Theological Speculation With Many Great Brews. Part One: Death And Kokytus.

Sausages And Cooking Murder.

Louis Vincent Palliere renders in bright colors the infamous Slaughter of the Suitors” by Odysseus and Telemachus, note those gorgeous capes tripping hues between orange and red. I love cooking sausages.  All sorts of sausage.  Beef, chicken, lamb and pig; andouille, bloedwurst, boudin, bratwurst, chorizo, hot dogs, kielbasa, knackwurst, linguiça, longaniza, merguez, morcilla, saucisson, soppressata,  … Continue reading Sausages And Cooking Murder.