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November 1, 2012 / Pumpkim

Easy Chinese dinner for one

After years of watching my dad prepare food. I’ve learnt a few tricks. One of them is how to prepare a very easy and quick dinner that satisfies the stomach and the soul. 

On my way to Cyrildene I picked up some amazing Oyster Mushrooms. On my way back I got some Okra to accompany the stir-fry. 

I’ve never made Okra in my whole life! But I’d imagine it tastes sweet and quite succulent and tough. I’ve read a lot about it being used in the cookings of Southern foods of America, especially in the slavery era a lot of the slaves ate Okra. 

Here below are the pics of my meal. Image




Ingredients: Garlic, Ginger, Chillies, Pork, Okra, Oyster Mushrooms

(note: it was really delicious, a very earthy and humble meal!)



I used the juices from the wok and made a soup. 

Just add water, egg drop, cucumber, seaweed and chopped spring onion. 


Sometimes, it doesn’t have to be an elaborate meal to taste really good. It took a total of 20 minutes to prepare everything and it was super filling. Nom!


May 15, 2011 / Pumpkim

Twice – a tribute

I’m scared like a turtle on cancer
Spreading fast through the veins
Wines of tears and hurtful counterparts
Losing controll and losing for all
I’m sorry to me
I’m sorry to her
We lifted like cosmic dust
And crashed with clipped wings
Is this sad?
Should I be worried?

I did like you
It promised love
And like all promises
Broken without a blink

“Twice I turn my back on you”
Songs, do they follow us?
“Tell me where would I go”
Yes please
The strongest part now
are the fingers typing these words
Fragile yes
Please forgive me

February 23, 2011 / Pumpkim


Wouldn’t it be beautiful if we let ourselves go
Embrace the end as if it just began
Listen, closer than our hearts allow
Give in, give out
Till our brains would feel like it would explode

And when it’s all over
Do it again
Beautifully, one more time
With all the love that we can master

July 16, 2010 / Pumpkim

The Suicide of Kalen McPhil

The wine on the table
Submerging between conversations
Lactation and manifestation
Against all odds, again
It’s time to cut the ties
Separate the dead from the living

A few not so random:

This wine, our conversation
Submerging between love
Last season’s ties
Today’s the dead

June 25, 2010 / Pumpkim

the simple chestire poison grease

the man really
twenty odd muscles
pulled to a grin
plumb and shocking
an attempt to look
me, happy to be
smiles for realsies
but what a disturbance
to see fake everything
strewn across this man’s
face it throttled
with piss
oozing loneliness
in a cup made of dictatorship
with a bag full of tricks
over brewed

June 8, 2010 / Pumpkim


I’m worried
Stuck between unbearable unknowns
The life of a twenty something
And so my wishing begins
Oh why god
Why the silence
Talk to me Chuck
Call me insane
But I think the borg had it right
Maybe we will reach singularity
And all this is
Just is

June 8, 2010 / Pumpkim

Urban confessions V

Urban Confessions V

In the form of brick piles like heads strewn loose
In this place we call a city we call our home
Housing somewhat of a household full of spilled magazine covers
Of the stars we know that we beseech to be shown on highway billboards
Underneath about a million house plants that teach us photosynthesis
So when we walk to Newscafe for a lunch break we call that an exercise
And when we eat the marvels of fusion cooking we call that our midday prize
So we carry the trophy in our stomach and curb the pavement to our liking
We kick stones like kids to pellets like gunshots by the taxi ranks
Transportation has never looked so mean, it’s all shine until someone bursts a hood
Transportation was never this rough, it’s your feet but their shoes
Kind of like a ‘50s parade downtown in ‘em schools
All sorts all giants and all mid-air fairy-tales happen there
Until the season change, the prices change, television change,
With songs about ‘summer girls’ – as if people were seasonal fruits
And those times we call special spent on forsaken street corners
Listening to jams humming words in sequence
It’s like a market day from Monday to Sunday in a city like this one
And like that one and the others that we’ve blissfully obtained
So that urban rhapsodies like this one could be made and flocked on wires
Let’s start another fire tonight, we need loose threads to tie past ends
We need ready words to soothe past wounds
We need our spirit, to change the city from fiend to friend


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