Category Archives: Supporting local dining establishments by avoiding chain eateries. Homesteading in the city.

My Neighbor Mr. Chen

My dear friend.

The Sunday South Williamsburg streets are busy with Hasidic Jewish folks in all traditional black and white regalia pushing double strollers, reading thick books over thicker horn rimmed glasses. To a visitors eye, it would be as if the entire Pennsylvania Amish country came to Brooklyn, minus the horse drawn buggies.

My neighbor, Mr. Chen, a 30 year member of our tightly knit Forest Hills street took ill four months ago, and I had slight reservations (mixed emotions) about going to see him even though we spent a lot of time together over the years.
A stroke hit him quite hard and I was told that it severely hampered his memory, that he does not speak and that he mostly confined to rolling chairs and mechanical beds.

Nursing homes always feel like Gods waiting room to me, they sadden me as the next step seems so near. Attached tubes to veiny bodies, hollowed screams down long halls and the empty eyes fluttering about are all abound.

Bedford is smaller in scale, attendees and health care workers are on the go, room to room, activity to meals, smiles beaming when they look up to greet you. I found this to be the continuous theme from my arrival to my departure and the end result? Peaceful minds, content eyes, friends and family’s gratitude.

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Sensitivity. Is it in You?

Anything that stimulates your nervous system will hold you up for a bit, then soon thereafter, drop you down. Daily use of and stimulants such as coffee, tea, cocaine, methamphetamine, whatever you’re into. They will all slowly draw you like an unhurried magnet into a place where you begin to feel insensitive to life. Now you’re holding your dog and he looks at you and the feeling is warm and loving, sensitive and unconditionally loving. And it is because their system is more attuned to the love and the feelings inside of you than you may be and your dog is likely not on meth. Your dog knows things that you will never know due to its high level of sensitivity awareness and our dulling sensitivity. This is one of the remarkable designs of the dog and I love dogs so I wanted to drop a quick dog plug.

I am learning more about my current sensitivity to life even as the years have added up and as I look around today I find that people are very ego sensitive, they are not life sensitive anymore, so they can not truly feel life. For this type of unfortunate soul, only their thought and the emotion to follow is life, again, because they can not feel life. They have all earned variable degrees of insensitivity.

Question: If you walk out into the forest, can you feel the trees by walking among them without touching them? They can feel you and I do believe that the dogs can feel them back. Therefore you certainly can not feel the little creatures that have come to gaze at you from the trees or hollow logs as you walk unknowingly among the trees. The sensitivity is dwindling and when I see the majority pecking upon their phones, I dread the day that sensitivity is all gone, sensitivity is rapidly losing its place in today’s modern life.

As I write this I find myself thinking about the drubbing headaches I have gotten in the past when I was on a cell phone call and how hot my ear head became in such a short period of usage. So I researched ‘microwave frequency’, the frequency that our devices transmit with and the information startled me enough that I had to eliminate that from my life. Then I began to take account of more of the body disturbing transmissions and their wounding echoes all around me here in New York City. Today’s machines have continuous daily reverberations, constantly buzzing and banging day and night, something seems to always be going on.

And on top of that, we can not always hear or see the reverberations source with these WiFi’s and stuff and they are doing the same thing the ones that we can see are doing to us, but quietly and unnoticeably. Televisions with people talking and arguing and shouting, traffic rumblings which amounts to excessive reverberations and constant aftereffects and I find it hard to be calm and to reduce my body’s burden to it, my absorption to it and seems to just bounce of everyone else’s. How is that possible when something is always buzzing or bumping? Aftershocks and their continuous echoes have a throbbing property on my particular human system.

Yet we as a people are a kind of reverberation, a reverberation of energy and matter. So I wonder is there needs to be a space to allow ourselves to reverberate back to balance ourselves, a reverberation to nature so our city reverberations can be released. Then we can develop and grow and spread our human system reverberations and to not to allow them to be reduced to an unheard internal crisis.

In all of this, there is no room for you to become more life sensitive. To sit quietly for a moment and be able to experience a fraction of a moment of the universe outside of our scopes and sounds, it takes a certain amount of sensitivity to do this without lowering the life experience. Are more sensitive people like myself that feel in a more profound and deeper way? Touching the base of the brass lamp on my desk for a quick moment. It is cool to the tips of my fingers and I feel can the designers fingers crafting the designs and understanding his intentions and I know few feel the same way that I do. There has to be others that can really feel the lamp.

Are you moving toward freedom and feeling the lamp or are you allowing your sensitivity to be enslaved? With all of the many of life’s challenges we all face on a daily basis, we all can easily get all tangled up and loose our gift to feel deeply, to cultivate our sensitivity to its fullest potential.


A New Passion for Roots

I’ve read some books, discussed with those that are familiar to the subject and have only begun my personal exploration of experiences on the topic of nature’s ability to heal, to heal us, the people of this planet. I have been gulping down yam tubers, Cassava tap roots, Taro corms and ginger rhizomes and I learned about each root. Next I will move on to stems and perhaps bulbs as well, as all have some medicinal quality. I have known about the health benefits of eating leaves and in some cases smoking them a bit that I affectionately refer to as “green dragon leaf” which will ail what might be troubling your overly analytical, hyper-busy or troubled mind.
The problem as I see it is there is not a national push to emphasizing to learned about how too properly grow and prepare and consume and benefit from the roots. And it should be imperative to the public to be more engaged and teaching their children to be more interested in the wonderful power of plant roots.
Its fall time now and there are a lot of leafs and roots and stems around as harvest begins its full progression into final gathering. So go about and eat as many roots you can and you will become suddenly healthier, but unfortunately, that’s not how it works. Learning about the medicinal properties of each root and deliberately apply the specific part of the plant to the specific health problem or ailment. Some say that it is correct to generally consume an assortment of roots with the hope that because they each exhibit medicinal properties and your health will automatically become better. There is a great passion to each point of view and I feel that these different methodologies might not have a right or wrong, better or worse answer, I could find no definitive research. To me, it matters not as long as I have a continual supply to keep me munching roots throughout the winter and I shall remain perfectly content, and a pint or two of the home made cider flagon with a heavy dose of cinnamon root.


Dark Colors Coming

Dark Colors Coming:

When we force ourselves to concentrate on not focusing on those images we carry along and take out when they really should be kept in, well you really can not keep them out, and they will eventually find their way to the front of the line. As they secure their positions in the scene and we wait as more images begin to develop. They start out dark in color and they enter from the sides even sometimes from the bottom but never from the top. I like to imagine for a moment that they are clouds, even if they are dark but just then they start to roll and roll and some do it sideways, others in a tall and thin whipping fog. It is pollution of the mind and it is testing the edges of the environs looking for a weak spot and wanting to get in – to gain full access.


Where Do the Stories Go?

Where Do the Stories Really Go?

All that lead up to anyone’s undoing is initially outwardly inflicted, but once we defeat them we have the real enemy to deal with – ourselves. Maybe the stories will be told, maybe they will remain quiet and die and maybe they will be tucked away in a manila folder behind so many other broken lives. Or worse of all, coated lightly and woven into the fabrics lining of a wanton conversation of recollection by question. Delivered as a passive piece while at a park having a picnic in the sunshine with a new woman and bottle of wine.


We All Know a Man

We All Know a Man

We all know a man like this in today’s modern day. With a abnormal smile, reaching to open a doors handle out of courtesy but would gladly slam that same persons head into that very door. It’s all there just below the surface ready to be swapped out. Ten minutes prior that same hand anticipated then pressed hard on the horn in his automobile at the flicker before the red light turned to green and held down upon it as if to release the pressure in his head though the heel of his hand. We all know a man like this. Maybe you only met him once, maybe he is your neighbor, and maybe he lives with you. There is so much included in the cost that has since passed, remember it well and remember it always. A man like this will remember what he wants to do.


I Was Sinking

I Was Sinking:
I was sinking, smiling and going down, I decided to leave home again in the hopes of finding the only safe time that I knew, anytime far from here. Excitingly curious times can be the worst of times, they can be curses in disguise, monsters in the mazes for me theses times were bliss before and they were comfortable — as in familiar. These times were trouble for others, those that cannot occupy chaos for long. What is this country doing for the doomed? Do you realize that you are becoming a rapidly and destructively doomed people? You’re inheriting a mess


BP, Aunt Bea and Me:

Bestbitesclub

Village Market At Shelton Vineyards.

BP Aunt Bea and Me

Money talks but it can’t sing, nor dance nor walk but walk on out with me it did after wanting desperately to be spent in this cutesie attachment market to the BP anchor.

The green varnish upon the westerly barnish structure in poedunk USA stood out like no other I’d seen in my north south (vice versa) travels, leaving me wanting to explore the wares they peddled.
Greeted with a Mayberry welcome sign hung above the door and bottles of red wine one foot in and I thought I’ve reached gas station Shangri La. Pleasantville by all outward appearances right here in west, West Virginia or was it Dobson, northern North Carolina? — I can almost smell the aroma of baked apples and peaches and butter — they’re Aunt Bee’s pies cooling on the sill, partially covered with a white…

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BP, Aunt Bea and Me:

Village Market At Shelton Vineyards.

BP Aunt Bea and Me

Money talks but it can’t sing, nor dance nor walk but walk on out with me it did after wanting desperately to be spent in this cutesie attachment market to the BP anchor.

The green varnish upon the westerly barnish structure in poedunk USA stood out like no other I’d seen in my north south (vice versa) travels, leaving me wanting to explore the wares they peddled.
Greeted with a Mayberry welcome sign hung above the door and bottles of red wine one foot in and I thought I’ve reached gas station Shangri La. Pleasantville by all outward appearances right here in west, West Virginia or was it Dobson, northern North Carolina? — I can almost smell the aroma of baked apples and peaches and butter — they’re Aunt Bee’s pies cooling on the sill, partially covered with a white quilted napkin.

Then — Poooof…

Empty inside, nobody shopping nor sitting for a bite — maybe its location — it’s maybe their way, but the chill of cool interest in answering a question is leaving me lonely and frostbitten still.
Counter woman didn’t come to the register as she sneered a bit, furrowed her brow in my direction prior to begrudgingly departing her deep lean chat with a cow poke chewing a wad of Copenhagen the size of a shot class & using the ‘leave a penny take a penny’ tray as a spitoon.
A classy move all the way. So much promise and add another letdown to my life to be. Pish Posh on them.


Chikarashi

Come inside for some fresh Poke Bowls.

PONZU Salmon Bowl.

The wind blowing down Broadway’s halls were fierce, the grumbling in my tummy, more fierce, and it’s noon time — eateries are packed — I know because I walked into – and out of – three of them already. No premeditated decisions, and I’m a bit panicky and am too close for comfort to all the sneezing and sniffling.

I just came from blocks of textiles and perfumes and the eateries ahead are thinning it seems. Turning left, it was a bright red neon sign that grabbed my attention, I gave no thought other than my last chance — I rushed in and I collided with a body on a line just a step inside the door.
Privately cursing my lack of direction and current state of feeling, I shuffle walked to the counter pondering how little I think of the Poke word – not any of it appeals to me. But po(horseshoe character)’kie being the actual made me very happy, it sounds ancient, and nerds won’t irresponsibly flood the streets.

I’ve really never had a Poke(ie) Bowl, fish and rice is nice in theory but I questioned its filling properties. A large Ponzu Salmon bowl before me, I explored with my chopsticks with some prodding, light delicate lifting and moved in closer. I couldn’t identify much and that’s a good thing, so with an unmighty swoop, I began thusly.

The menu reads, Scottish salmon, wasabi ponzu, shiso, kyuri, tibiko, katsuo panko, I’m embarrassed to admit how little I know of this world.
The salmon lightly dissolved on my tongue with a beautiful clean far Atlantic finish, yet strong in structure. How the textures and flavors came together was like a symphony in my mouth, but interrupted each time my sticks ran aground on the buried bowl dividers below, like the separation compartments of 1970s TV dinners, or any meals when shackled.

Much to learn young Jedi, much to learn and I must. But in terms of a proper launching point, I deem this days lunch a success.