INK OINK ART INC.                            writing and things
This prehistoric-looking thing sure is glad to be alive. It's got some serious forza and it isn't kidding around. 

favorite thing with rhubarb:
Chop some and add raspberries and honey, and put in oven until mooshy. This prevents sticky pans etc and tastes awesomer than mere sugar. Simple. Frabjous.

Pour over substance or your choice, or eat just so. 
That was some of the garden just 2 weeks ago. Now it has exploded. Spent the day digging out spare clumps of things like chives, parsely, Black-Eyed Susans which come up properly later, and fennel and more lemon balm to pass around to neigbhors. Some hungry scans of the rhubarb clusters. One of my rhubarbs is bolting. It's quite a sight. It's huge. And It's got this big... er...protuberance.
 You look good enough to eat.

I’m thinking it’s gonna be your fairly rare individual who looks at a rabbit hopping around or a cow snorting in the dawn, and starts to salivate.

In case you’re rolling your orbs thinking this is gonna be a lame pro-vegetarian argument, it’s not. It’s a genuine wonder. I do eat meat. I wonder at myself. I really wish I didn’t feel gnawingly hungry sometimes, for animal protein. I’m trying to convince my body’s balance to shift to another gear. Body and I are in negotiation. I’ll let you know.


Sticking the food in your mouth and chewing it is just part of the equation. What you think, is also gonna impact your digestion and your inner climate. And I love animals. I love them more than people. On a pure mental level, I think I’d be more comfortable eating whoever is reading this than eating beasties. Alright, maybe not. Unless you were already dead and packaged. A little styrofoam, a little plastic wrap: you’d look like din-dins to me. Kidding! Breathe deep, Clarice. Just walking my whatifs.

I guess people avoid brushing their minds against what it really means to eat animal flesh. If you bring it up, you get a chorus of bloody-minded jokes. Or people walk away. I get it. Sometimes it sucks to feel.

I may be a flake, but I’m no wuss. Things die. You gotta get okay with that, cause you’re gonna do it too. It’s the suffering that’s unnecessary. It’s real cowardice-- the stuff we do in order not to feel, that allows the real horror just go on and on.

My carnivorous cat, who sometimes kills justbecause, injured a bird recently. I got it from him and walked around with an open palm for a bit, in case the bird was merely stunned, as sometimes has happened. I called on the devic spirit of birds to mitigate its pain and take it out of life swiftly if the injury was mortal. Then I put it in the crux of my cherry-tree, and went back into my front room to work. Moments later, I caught a blur of grey in my peripheral vision, and I went out. A squirrel was holding the bird, and as I watched, it bit through the thing’s neck like a vampire and then proceed to eat it’s head with audible crunches and cracks. Seeing me it skittered further up the tree, bird still in hand, and ate the bird from stern to stem. I had no idea squirrels ate birds, I was sure they were total nuttetarians. Not. A bit later I was back in my front room and the squirrel came down the tree to drink at the water bowl in front of the French doors. She had a good look at me while she did so, and it was hard not to extrapolate some sort of comment from her. You the one that asked for a fast death? Fast enough for ya? I say she, because her undercarriage revealed full teets. Either preggers or nursing.

It was, I suppose, some sort of natural imperative. Do I have a natural imperative to go with my steak? Or, is there a way around what I’m trying not to judge as my own vampirism. Don’t answer. If you’re David Wolfe or you are Weston A. Price, with respect, I know your answer. I also know that I have only one rule in my diet, and that’s that my body, animal that it is, different from the animals that you are, has the final word.

I’ve been a vegetarian for periods of my life and never thrived. I can’t digest beans for beans and grains make me sleepy and sugar crave-y. I live in Canada, where she ain’t warm and growing season is short, and Body endures a dormancy period stronger than I think one experiences in a warmer climate, so I cannot eat a pure raw diet. Certainly not in the winter or early spring. I also can’t digest eggs at all, and perhaps the archest of my enemies is The Misery Liquid; milk. And thank god iI can't digest it. Gah. Dairy.

Because death is not as bad as misery. It’s briefer, for one. What has to be perpetrated to get something else’s mother’s milk to every human child beggars belief. I don’t think the word ‘evil’ has many valid uses. But this is one. Pure misery. Yumbo.

In ancient (Hindu) India, cow’s milk traditionally was only harvested from the excess, that is, it was after a mother had fed her calf however long it was necessary, there was a short period, a month or two when she would still be lactating, and when it would not be stealing from her or her young’s lifeforce. That’s keeping heart involved in life. Of course, they lived more closely with their animals than we do.

To the degree that a person is away from nature, their feeling capacity, their very humanity, suffers injury, I feel. People bring plants and cats and dogs into their homes in an effort to reconnect on some level to their sensate, animal selves, to attempt to remember that they too are one of the things Earth has grown. The string is so thin. A lapdog named Taxi. A dried-out spider plant. Some shells. It’s funny and sad to me, when tiny, tidy, Febreezed corners are allocated for nature. Notwithstanding the aliens among us, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE???

You’re not just a thing that carts a brain around. You’re an animal! Get with Mutha Naytcha, fool.

Yes, vegetarians can be tedious, hitting you about the face and neck with their righteous celery sticks. But by gum, the Evangelical Meat-eater is a pill too. I have a neighbor who is well into the Weston A. Price dietary material. Big on the meat thing, she has gone so far as to claim that the bad relationship decisions one lady made were the result of being weak-minded from eating only vegetables. ('SBLOOD!) Rather than getting stroppy about other people being vegetarian,  we should thank them. Not everyone on earth can eat meat. That’s just the math.

If you don’t know who Weston A. Price is, he’s a guy who went and studied the diets of people in so-called ancestral societies, (there seems to be an illusion that some of us sprang out of taps, or were farted from volcanoes with no ancestors at all) and specifically studied their teeth as a marker of health,(Gentleman of the West with tripod and accordion camera and V. Important Quest, importy-port-ports his way through humble village sticking his fingers in everyone’s mouth. 'Can you grin for me?' Rictus.  'Yes like that, Smolinka' Head under tarp. 'Look the the birdy.' Waves fingers. The same ones 'e had in me mouth! Poof. Thunder and Lightning! Villagers blink. Blink. Blink.) and he concluded, that it was a diet rich in animal fat and fermented food that made healthy teeth and the people to go with them. Price has an absolute fanatical (soup-sucking) following. I don’t at all deny that there are some truths there for some bodies. Mine is not one of them, as I cannot digest even unpasteurized milk, nor coconut milk, and some of the other stuff, the organ meats and lardy drippings etc. make me heave like this BLA-FAARGH! 

Price advocates making broth from bones, with some apple cider vinegar in the mix to draw the minerals out, and there are claims that eating  bone broth all the time will heal such things as autism and gum disease. He says humans can’t get minerals from plant matter and that they need to be down-stepped for them through other beings that eat such. Animals raised in factories that never see the light, never eat grass, are useless to us, says Doctor Price… okay, not my reasons for no to factory-farms, but agreed, okay…but then

…In other words what we want… is plant matter. Well, not plant matter…

but LIGHT.

There. Down-stepping the light. Light is information. Light is… well, it’s everything. Every particle of a particle. We’re light. Sustained by light. Surrounded by light.

I’m sure, that we’re on a sliding scale here on earth vis-a vis our bodies abilities to downstep light. So that’s my magnetic north. Go as close to pure light as possible given my body’s ability. Let go of judginess over my own and others diets. And possibly my judginess of their judginess. At this point, body feels it still needs meat, and I still eat it, and I also eat as much raw greenery as poss.  Here’s today’s yummy smoothie

Two oranges, three dates, comfrey leaf, two bunches of coriander. Dandelion leaf, wild nettles, parsley, bit of mint.  Pretty dang good.

PS. I realize I was just a bit stroppy about Price, however I'm fresh off an earful of getting preached at. Truth is, it's not all for me but I did learn some things, particularly the very useful, easy habit of making fermented foods like sauerkraut, which I now do all the time.

I can’t taste anything. I can’t smell anything. And I feel like I’m porting a feather pillow around my head. For the last two days I’ve been chugging oil of oregano in a shot glass with water and lemon. If you’ve ever done that you know that oil of oregano is not a gentle flavor. It’s the flavor equivalent of Thor’s hammer. Unsubtle. I didn’t taste a thing.  I went out to dinner the other night and ate basically a plateful of textures. The mashed potatoes were outright sinister. 

It’s very interesting when Body goes a bit offline. On the one hand, it’s a little gross, but even the snot Body has been pumping out by the litre is kind of fascinating to me.

It’s spring. Cherry Blossoms are going all bridal on the streets of Vancouver, and yesterday the first tulips in my garden opened. I feel weird, yeah. But I’m stoked. I’m one of those fools who just can’t get over the whole idea that little seeds, if you stick ‘em in the earth, they get some mystery signal, unfold and reach up and get their pretty on. It’s make-out time for rabbits and squirrels and tauruses. Everything’s got the urge to move it-move it.

I’m just off to get a bunch more dirt. I’ve decided to build an aromatics wall close to the house(sage, thyme, rosemary, peppermint, lemon balm etc.) in the hopes that perhaps Body will be inspired to inspire instead of expectorate.

I got the idea yesterday after lopping off a huge amount of lemon balm that grows wild by the house and making pesto. I think was awesome, but I can’t really be sure because I didn’t taste it. This is the recipe:

Half a long English cucumber

A huge mount of lemon balm leaves and stalks

One tbs of apple cider vinegar

2 Tbs wheat-free tamari (or you could use a salt mix)

Five huge gobs of tahini (I find tahini and cucumber a really nice mix, but I also make different pestos with pumpkin seeds, lightly toasted almonds and sunflowers. Pine nuts just cost too much)

Pour over yummy organic soba noodles.



As I say, I couldn’t taste it, but I could imagine the taste and the texture was really fun.

This time of year means all kinds of experimenting in greenery for me. For example, breakfast was:

Half a store-bought organic thingy of spinach with two peeled oranges and

Three pitted dates and, oh joy, oh delight, from the garden:

A bunch of parsley, A bunch of cilantro, Some mint leaves, a comfrey leaf, two dandelion leaves!  Stick all that in the vitamix blender. YUMMY!

Ah. It fills me with adolescent glee to have started with snot and ended with a recipe!

I’m always getting razzed at work for the weird food I eat.  My breakfast is the thing that no North American I have met can countenance. I admit, I don’t really like N. A. breakfast food. Eggs and bacon fried potatoes and sausage? Why not add a pizza, beer and some hookers? Porridge? It’s GREY. Muffins? You mean cake? First thing? Before the party? Nah.

In the old days I’d show up at work early in the morning eating tuna sandwiches and salad. The tuna endeared me to all who had to share our tiny booth. It was my morning perfume. Eau de Kit.  I only ate it because it’s very hard to find chicken soup at 8 am. That. Is breakfast.

That said, if I have a day off, this is how I eat early in the a.m. (spring)

@ 5:30, I forage. I eat wild dandelions, yes I do. I bite their heads off. I prowl the land. Some leaves—you can see how they punch at the sky. They are hogwild with vitality! I put em in a pan with rocks of salt and cookem--  If I make it all the way home with them. Breakfast of champeens round mine is dandie greens and vicious fishes. And a slug of bloody kvass. Here’s one of my


Dandies, flash fried with celtic sea salt. Or raw and let to wilt under 


  • Get a Buncha soles or deboned trout (non-large fish flesh)
  • Get a buncha lime leaves
  • A snarf of shrimp paste(it's a Thai deals
  • Maybe some lemongrass. (I grew some last year. I don’t think it’s perennial. It’s just sitting there being brown…still)
  • Fish sauce(the Thai stuff) – a snoof, no more, they are sugar crazy.
  • A red pepper or a hot pepper if you’re Wild
  • Salty mix
  • Cilantro.
  • Chives.
  • Optional spud or Sweet spud or coconut meat.
Stick it in the blender: WAZZ!

Extra virgin coconut oil for fryage

Make balls. Fry balls. Balls are made to fry. You can flour your balls if it bothers you that they stick to your fingers. Some people are sticky-ball averse and need to dust. I respect that.

Stick on dandies and serve with a drink of 


Three days before this meal you will:

Get a mason jar. Peel and chop three medium beets or two big beets, or a big beet and two little beets.

Add some salt. More than you think you should. 

Add some whey powder like they sell at muscle-man vitamin stores or pour the whey off the top of your unflavored yogurt, if you have some. 

Fill up jar with filtered water. Close. Sit the thing on the counter for two days. Hoik it in the fridge for a day. Drink the beet juice to the bottom. Throw out the beets. Solid Russian GOLD.