Horror is a genre of excess, of abundance — and food is the perfect metaphor in its narratives because it holds so many meanings at once. Food, from the grotesque to the delicious, populates the screen: the raw steak crawling across the kitchen counter in Poltergeist (1982); a distracted Drew Barrymore burning her popcorn in the opening scene of Scream (1999); the chocolate bars Charlie routinely snaps with her teeth in Hereditary (2018). Hunger is everywhere in horror: from werewolves to zombies to cannibals, the protagonists we find on screen are either devouring or being devoured. But what I’m interested in is not the readings of food as metaphors for capitalist consumption, the disintegration of the American family unit, or sexual taboos — but simply in the act of eating itself.

Laura Maw
There’s Nothing Scarier Than a Hungry Woman

Positano

September 21, 2019

WE stay – our hearts together
in Positano on the Amalfi coast
on top a precious hill –
we can see Le Galli islands

I – with a bottle of wine
you – show me your soul
we drink in praise of love

pastel coloured houses smile
and flowers dance our songs
the stars – in the evening sing

Positano beneath my feet
on the coast clear waters
lay under the sun – pebble and sand

we know this place from another time
our past is found in Grotta la Portal
hidden in cave – two hands embrace

I say we stay and live
among the cliffs of Positano
enjoying lunch at la Cambusa

E P Robles

[You NEVER know when the last time you see a place or a person will be. So make the most of them NOW, boys & girls!]

Peedeel at Christmas

 

Dear God, I’m so glad Christmas is over for another year. I’ve consumed industrial quantities of confectionary, drank euro-lakes of wine and at least one barrel of very fine brandy. I’ve gained weight I didn’t need – don’t know how much, I’m too frightened to go near the scales; and I believe that if I did raise the courage to step on them, the scales would either break or scream, “One person at a time, please!” in a loud shrill voice.

P

Diary 21st April

Easter weekend, became a lost weekend. We gave ourselves unashamedly to debauchery, Boys & Girls. And strong drink raged (as it does here, from time to time). Driven by our inflamed, animalistic urges we veered from manic to tender, from gently sentimental to crudely rough. It was, in short, an excellent time for us all.

Saturday night I watched a pretty woman put on her makeup. I M’s face, slightly flushed after her time alone with Dee and Gabby, reflected in the dressing table mirror in the spare room. She drank rum and sprite. Fussed with her hair. Spoke in banalities.

#

And now, between various feverish activities, I must decide whether or not to cancel an oral hygienist appointment at my dentist’s. The day and evening preceding we will be with old friends, eating, drinking, and over indulging. Can I face the hygienist first thing in the morning with a hangover and a mouth like a badger’s bum?

HYGIENIST: “Please Peedeel, allow me to fart in your mouth and freshen your breath.”

I think I’ll cancel!

#

Vast alchemies. Every three minutes, a person goes missing in the UK. Where do they all go? I find it a deeply disturbing statistic, don’t you?

#

Oh, yes, which reminds me. I watched the new episode of Dr Who at the weekend. Peter Capaldi’s last series playing the Dr . Mr Capaldi is a fine actor, but the Who series suffers from shite writing, and is in the guiding hands of those who believe that “narrative and characterization are too distracting from their preferred salad of videogame spaghetti”.

Long live the third rate, ay wot?

#

Food for thought: If all men disappeared of the face of the earth, every war would instantly be over.

The space beyond truth

April 9, 2017

Diary 9th April

Me, age ten. My older cousin Debs, fair and freckled, hitched up her skirt in the bathroom to show me where a boy must put “his thing” to make a baby.

“Obviously,” she reassured me, “it’s got to be stiff when you do that…”

And funnily enough, looking at what she had down there, I was very stiff. But a baby…? How could a baby come from such a small opening?

#

My mother spoke frequently of my sister’s second husband’s sexual problems. These she attributed to an excess of wanking as a child. He had, she insisted, a terrible crush on another boy while in sixth form college. My sister, lacking a penis, was no doubt second best when it came to his choice of life-partner. Although how my mother acquired such intimate knowledge of him I haven’t the slightest idea.

#

The beautiful weather continues. I will spend the day in the garden, pottering about in the bright sunshine and drinking G&Ts from tall iced glasses. Probably, we’ll all be legless by teatime.

#

Aromatherapy has been practiced for many, many years. There is, of course, a spiritual side to this form of massage. There are Wiccans who in their practice of witchcraft can create potions and elixirs which by the ritual reciting of spells energise these herbs and ingredients to a whole new level of potency. They are able to produce aromatherapy oils that work on the brain, creating states of euphoria and bliss the like of which you will never have experienced before.

#

And, of course, we’re thinking about Beltane. Food, drink and love starting on the evening of 30th April and continuing throughout the 1st of May in celebration of the Gods and Goddess’ of fertility and love. It is a time of fire and raw sex. Bonfires and rituals. A time to practice “The Great Rite”, reenacting the creation of the universe through acts of ritual sex – celebrating our bodies and creating magical power while engaging in acts of love outdoors. Perfect.

True Confession

April 2, 2017

watching a boy unbutton his pants to take his dick out makes me have the same feeling like when I’m in a restaurant and i see my food coming to my table.

Source HERE

Home

January 2, 2017

after-the-party

Diary 1st January

2017, and home again. Our Manor House break was terrific – we overindulged terribly. We eat, drank and made love to excess…compensated for this in part with long walks beside the Stroudwater canal. Fed the swans. Saw and photographed a female Sparrow hawk resting on an ancient tombstone in St Cyr’s churchyard. Played naughty smothering games, and as Rabelais says (in his prologue to the Tiers Livre):

Bon espoir y gist au fond.
Good hope lies at the bottom…

Wishing everyone a happy new year. May all your dreams come true in 2017.

A basic truth

December 6, 2016

pasta-salad

Of course reading and thinking are important but, my God, food is important too.

Iris Murdoch
The Sea, the Sea

September 5, 2016

pets<

Very true…

December 23, 2015

sundaybear

Generally speaking if I’ve eaten something, I don’t expect to see it again…