I feel this pull to consume. Whether it be food, coffee, sex, video, activity, others, or feelings. This need to fill. To do something that fills the part of me that yearns for something to engage in.

At times I think love will help assuage this feeling, but then I realize that I am just putting that burden on another person who has the same needs as me. I don’t think I am alone in this quest. Others certainly feel this, it’s the human condition.

In the extreme I think it can lead to suicide by your own hand, or engaging in such risky behavior that you pay that price, in the end. I could list them all but I won’t bore you.

I am talking about the human condition. Do I just keep busy, so I don’t have time to think about it? I know I feel better when I am in some kind of relations with others, writing, or cooking. I have forgotten to mention the most important relations l have in my life right now. His paw is on my belly, trying to get my attention.

Him and his brother make my life more meaningful and substantial. I have to consider two other living beings in my life. I make decisions that keep them alive and healthy. I wonder what would happen if I die? I think others would miss me, but I know they would, for awhile. For how long who knows, but I have read stories of pets that have been lost for years and have still recognized their owners when reunited.

I am trying to build a network around me to help slake this hunger. When I use it and keep writing, cooking and walking I feel somewhat satiated. Hopefully I can use this hunger to propel me to be of benefit to myself and others.

We are made of stars and the day after I die I will start to deteriorate back into those simple elements. I will become pieces of the periodic table. If I leave some money in my will perhaps this website will last a little longer, that and possibly my cats.

I moved to Belize when I was 62. I studied cooking when I was 29. Theses journeys may not seem like much, but they mean a lot to me. I met some people who I have grown to call my friends and some who I genuinely love, not in a romantic, passionate way, but still love.

If this is life it doesn’t seem like much. I look back and think what is there, to leave a mark. I guess that’s what drives the tyrants, politicians, sports stars, creators and just about everyone else, in their own way.

Is it because I am not leaving any spawn behind? That is an emmense source of pride for many people. Keep the family name going and all. Perhaps that has something to do with it. Although I am glad I didn’t bring any hostages into my addicted life.

I think that has lots to do with the longing, but I will have to make do with the only things that are left when we leave. The thoughts in others minds(usually the ones that love us or hate us, and sometimes those people can be the same) and our art.

I hope that one day someone will speak my name and the dust that is part of the stars will stir, a little.

I’ve never seen so many shades of green. The rich luster of the the leaves and vines in this country is varied and make the place look like all jungles must, but to me they are new and awe inspiring.

It’s one of the things that has enthralled and also frightened me! It grows so fast. It cares not for man’s intervention. Give it water and the smallest amount of soil. It will keep coming back! No matter how much you swing your machete or pave over. There will come a time when there will be only the smallest traces of us.

The plants will use our body’s and bones for fertilizer. Some of them live for thousands of years and the forest/jungle communicates. Will in really be the cockroachs that survive us? Perhaps it will be the cockroachs in the forest/jungle.

I am a writer. That is where I feel most comfortable, where I can project a vision. I have the words to make a picture, but there is always the imagination of the reader at play. I love that aspect because with a good writer I can fill out the scene in my mind

A painting though. When I see the brush going into the lush mound of paint, and notice how it pulls out leaving a tail behind I can only think erotic thoughts. The lusty act of splattering the colour on paper or watching it get stroked onto canvas is amazing and provocative.

Mixing the pigments together to form a new hue is so creative to me and has my mind blooming with possibilities. The thickness of the paint, the power or deftness with which it is applied all come together to form the picture, and there it is. Whether I like it or not. THERE it is

It is a story that no photograph can ever match. A photo comes out of a machine. A painting comes out of a person.

Things in the hands of others lead to uncertainty. I guess that’s why I fear rejection so much and even if it happens I generally survive. Not unchanged but I do survive.

I want to move emotionally but to do that I need to risk. I need to challenge myself. How I ask, I don’t often know. First I would prefer to confront my own view of myself. That’s the crux, the hill I die on most times.

This was all triggered by a late visa stamp situation, but makes me realize again how much I look to others for validation. When I can see myself in a realistic and loving light. Projecting that to others is a goal.

I think in some ways I have achieved that and just don’t feel it in me. Time to sling it out there, figure out what I want and start.

Probably not, but I prefer to write. The action of writing is a practice that I will be working on. It’s easier to write when I am passionate, but I can’t be full of fire all the time. That would be so exhausting!

If on the other hand I practice the art of putting words together when I am more clinical I will become more skilled at my craft and flourish when I am writing with emotion.

The other part that is beneficial is I keep my mind engaged and less time is spent in passive viewing, but in the stream of writing and joining words to connect to each other, making a sentence, paragraph and eventually a story emerges. This can only help me as I age.

My boy, Jefferson is on the blanket, with his bulging belly showing as he naps. He had 4 teeth pulled a couple of days ago due to a mouth infection. I was afraid he was going to die like Turtle who never recovered from the teeth cleaning she got.

He is prescribed soft food and a pain killer to manage to get it down, so I am very happy that he is able to eat and have a fat little belly.

I was so hurt when Turtle died. I saw her being unable to eat or drink and starving to death. Seeing her beautiful little yellow eyes in pain!

Every day I can hold a cat in my hands and stroke it is another day that my presence on this planet is fulfilling. To live in support of others is to live. I wish I was better at it.

The couch supports me with little complaint.

Time to cook breakfast, time to walk, time to talk and time to breathe. Some of the milestones that make up my life today, but yet so important. Without them I would be dead.

I wait for a truck part, I talk to my vet about my cat and how she is doing. 4 teeth recently pulled. The slow leak on my tire requiring attention. Some of these things I love. Some require patience, and physical action. Alas some money. These things cobble together my day.

I sleep pretty well. Nothing disturbing my mind to much , I guess.

This is my life. This and my head where I reflect on the past and worry about the future, getting better at living for today.

Better get at that hair on my head!

I took frozen lamb out yesterday. It was already cut into cubes. Ready for marinating. I slathered it with yogurt and red chilli powder, as well as salt. It sat in the fridge and amalgamated into the canvas of my Curry.

Today, after much lusting in my mind I got home around 3 and started working on my masterpiece. Curry is serious business, but also a labour of love that produces a truly visually uninspiring dish.

The creativity and art of the Curry is not the image though! The blending of ingredients, spices and vegetables is the colour on the canvas. The experience of combining these layers of flavour with the art of flavour transformation that heat brings is sublime.

The stages of carmelization and texture change that is wrought by an artist of the sauce pan is truly the palate that a chef can look at and say “a little of this here and now, and some of that there” This ends with a flavour and texture that is worth the time it took to make and the sweat produced when eaten.

All hail the Curry!

If I let you there you would see. I don’t know if you would approve, or even understand. What’s not to understand? I’m people just like everyone else! This is my defense, my moat. You will only get so far. It protects me from the pain of rejection, yet it also keeps me from the joy of acceptance.

Let’s have a look at what there is. There is this big twisted thing about women, sex, pain and love. Which is what I have from my conditioning and choices. Choices about knowledge, effort and desire. Conditioning from engaging in the same behavior. Over and over and over and over and over again.

Then there is the actual world. It isn’t as rosy as I make out my fantasies to be, but it is full of real feelings and people that have them. I live in both, although I would like to spend more time in one over the other.

I have this fantasy where I am part of a romantic relationship. Someone to hold me in bed, but do I really want someone holding me in this heat? Someone to be hold me when I remember Linguine. Someone to take care of me when I am sick, or at least listen to me whine!

Then I wonder what would I do if someone was there 24/7? Could I be that for someone else? Could I be their rock? Could I embrace, tolerate their eccentricities as I would want them to do for me? Loving another is hard work. I have dear friends who I treasure and love. Is it enough between them Jefferson and Ferguson? I do love these two cats with an unreasonable love. Even as I am tolerating Ferguson eating my earphones as he has done several times.

If I can tolerate cleaning cat shit off the floor twice a day can I cook, clean and lean into another? Can I care or have I gotten so out of practice that it is safer to be alone. To commit to writing as a purpose in life, leaving my emotional longings, because at this stage the physical longings are but a ghost of the past, to shrivel and atrophy?

That’s the thing about emotional longings though. They don’t just go away and why can’t I have both! A purpose and the companionship of another human. These 2 cats are pretty great though!!!