Skarfing
Material
with Chel-Boy-Am--Hungry
Every night he wakes
up shaking in a sweat
bath. The room is always coal
black. He lies for hours, fists
clutching crumpled sheets, star-
ing at a shadow sea and the blessed
space between the shutters and the
window sill. He doesn't exhale till that thin
slot, that inch of freedom, starts turning grey.
Without it, he would suffocate.
Sometimes he crawls along in the
pressurized pitch darkness, hands
picking at the carpet. He travels
counter-clockwise, pressing his right
side hard up against the wall. The
rough textured finish on his bare
shoulder feels like the nubby rug foun-
dation that his fingers strike as they probe
the fibers. He often loses track of the two
tactile stimuli and can't tell which part of his
body is feeling what. In fact, this confusion
goes even further than mere transposal of
sensation. The pinprick from each individual
dot of plaster and each knot of wool becomes
a nucleus of hot pain that explodes in-
to actual light. As he moves, hunched
and shivering, his fingers and side
blaze with epidermal starbursts. It's a
sensual genesis that, unfortunately for him,
is only imagined. He would give almost
anything to see real light. His whole body
quakes and craves at the thought of a
dancing candle flame, the hazy pole of
flashlight beam, a bent spoon handle reflect-
ing the glow of an afternoon sun.
His eyes are smoldering ashes. After three
or four tours of the room he squats in
front of the window with his fingers
hooked on the sill. The steel outer blinds
are bolted shut, but he glues his gaze
to the sliver of hope that shimmers and
pales as the sun rises.
The switch for his bare bulb lies on the
other side of a locked door. Only the matron's
crooked talon has access to this switch-
the key to a warm world of distinct shapes,
colors and movement. She enters every
morning at nine, grim and wheezing. His
head whips around the minute soft light
pours into the room. He beams, she screams,
and they both head for the dining room. His
nightly ordeal is over, and he's elated by the
hours of daylight that he knows lie ahead.
This is routine. This is his life.
One day there is a change. Instead of
rushing him straight through the showers
after breakfast, the matron allows him to walk
in the yard for a few minutes. It's late August,
the grass is high and yellow. He's trudging
through the stiff dry chaff, wishing he could
stare directly into the sun without burning his
eyes, when an object lodges itself between
his bare toes. He looks down and can't
believe what he sees-a book of matches!
The matron is about fifteen feet behind him
so she doesn't notice his treasure or its
retrieval. Later on, he enters the cool interior
of his cubicle with renewed optimism. Tonight
the darkness won't wrap its cloak around his
consciousness. The walls won't swell and his
pulse won't turn into elephant footsteps.
Tonight he'll use the matches, plus all of his
books, magazines and sheets to surround
himself with glowing salvation. The door is
locked, the house is wood, and the fields out-
side are dry as bone...
GET FIRED UP
a
You don't have to be a pyromaniac to enjoy
good blaze; barbequed cuisine is some of
fun to cook and, best of all, you don't have
the most skarfable grub you can grab. It's
to wash any pots or pans. Just make a char-
coal pyramid in your barbeque, douse the
briquets with lighter fluid and torch 'em. Wait
until most of the coals are glowing red, then
spread them out (OUCH not with your hand.
dude), and cook some....
FISH THAT CHICKS DIG
• 2 pounds "dark meat" fish fillets (e.g. salmon,
tuna, shark, etc.)
1 cup each soy sauce and dry red wine
⚫10 cloves crushed garlic
2 tbsp each brown sugar, vinegar and lemon juice
⚫healthy doses of crushed fresh basil, parsley, tar-
ragon and oregano (you can use dried spices)
1 onion, sliced into rings
•1 green or red pepper, sliced into abstract expres-
sionist forms
Combine the liquids and spices in a bowl.
Lay the fish one layer deep in a large baking
pan. Decorate it with the onion and pepper
slices and dump on the marinade. Cover it
and put it in the fridge, then go out and skate
for at least a couple hours. The longer you
session, the better your fish will taste. When
you get home, stoke the 'que. Seat the fish
on some aluminum foil (leave on the onions
and peppers). When the coals are hot, slap
the foll-covered demon onto the rack, and
pop a cold one. After ten minutes, check the
meat by slicing it and having a taste. If it's
not done, flip it over and cook for a few more
minutes, then mow down.
(Recipe - Erock Jones, Ketchikan, AK.)
UNIDENTIFIED FRYING OBJECTS
1 eggplant and 5 potatos, cut into ½" thick slices
• olive oil
2 tsp each: thyme, oregano, rosemary, basil
• salt 'n' peppa
Before you slice the spuds, wash them
well and cut off any weird stuff. Par-boil them.
Dump the near-done "pucks" into a large
vessel and coat with oil and herbs. While
your coals prime, slice the eggplant and
brush with oil and herbs. Grill 'em, Danno.
They should cook about 5 minutes on each
side or until fully tender. Now pig out on the
killer meatless meal.
(Recipe Dalla Vasiulis, The Bahamas)
BURNT EARS
• 6 ears fresh com (leave the husks on)
This must be the easiest recipe we've ever
printed. Take the ears of corn and lay them
right on the coals. Use tongs to rotate them
while they cook (about 15 minutes total).
(Recipe-Def Leon, Berkeley, CA.)
HOT DANG!
If you're gonna barbeque in January, you'll
need a bunch of Shark Taco T-shirts. Send
$10.75 each (postage and handling included)
to: THRASHER, Shark Taco T-shirt, P.O. Box
884570, San Francisco, CA 94188-4570.
ELLISE
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SCHLONGEVITY
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MEDALI
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P.O. BOX 884413 SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94188
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