Moar poem

How To Tell A Story
(Shira Erlichman)

There is a way of telling stories. A red pen. A teacher to move it.
Instead you have hands, and a Light inside you, and Bones.
Instead you have ideas, which ricochet, and an anger that won't sit still,
and dogs from outside which come to die in the quiet spots inside of you.
And, deliberately, you have noise.
You have rape, and cities, the noise of the dumb, and of the very rape of the
earth, an ache, a strangeness like swallowing feathers, a bitterness, you have.
There is a way of telling stories. They tell you it is not like this.

( So you remove your arms, that way no hands can find anything )

Bake as usual!

I have just discovered
a) the existence of the New Zealand Electronic Text Centre
and
b) that they have a transcription and electronic facsimile of the 1914 edition of the 'Sure to Rise' Coookbook, issued by the Edmond's baking powder company.

It's not the earliest edition, but it's early enough to be deeply entertaining. What is the usual way to bake chelsea buns? I don't know, and they're not telling me. Does the custard love the cup? How much is a teacup of sugar? (I don't know, but a teacup of milk = 1 gill) And Was this stuff as unappealing as it sounds?