The Alchemist of Time

I am a dreamer reflected in a gazing globe, never far from the moon.

I am a dreamer reflected in a gazing globe, never far from the moon.

The Alchemist of Time


The Alchemist of Time

is thrumming in my blood

slowing down

a clock

I never knew was overwound.

I’d like to keep my dross

as I grow old,

but the Alchemist of Time

has drawn a cross

and told

me–my life is not my own–

She stirs me in a beaker made of glass

heated by the most


Bunsen burner—flare and jet of gas–

I am a drifting veil of steam


Into the final light of gold.

-Sandrina Eugenius

Neither the Wife Nor the Fanboy

Sometimes, stories and poems get intercepted and told by voices of the Universe. Such was the case this morning. Listen.

Main Ingredients:
baby carrots

Spice Pack:
1/3 dash of reluctance
1/8 whisper of nervousness


I am neither the wife, nor the fanboy, only the chef with the recipe on the screen. As an Arganee cook, and as one who channels sounds from the Universe, I am remixing this dish of Nervous Nellies into a poetic response. Listen.

The young fanboy writes;
the married writer reads.
It merges back together
when threads begin to weave.

They are both deep in story,
so, let’s add to the stew:
a carrot baby, peace, and
a perhaps a smidgen of youth.

In a stream of email whispers,
amidst text message shouts,
with comment bin analysis,
Nervous Nellie pouts

and pours herself a glass
a thimble shot of pain
for now that the story’s past,
she back at home again.

I’m An Angry Chef…. Rawr

Cooking with Anger was really fun! My list was:

Level: Chef

Your basket:

Main Ingredients:



cheap red wine



Spice Pack:

1/3 smidge of frivolousness

1/4 cup of agitation


My story:

Have you ever been so in love with someone, your heart aches when there’s distance between? That slow, agonizing torment that creates a nervousness in your blood. The rushing you may try and ignore that flows through your warm, soft skin, if you drink an espresso when your usual cup of the day is nothing but a cool glass of water. The anxious, palm sweat forms as you try to remember the last time you saw their face. Heard their voice. Felt their skin. distance that stretches across oceans of minutes, to a place where you hope she can remember the sound of her cell phone…

I am a loser. A loser of keys and wallets and cell phones and receipts. A loser of memories. Memories of forgotten calls and texts. Of missed birthdays and anniversaries. I am no better than the vinegar that attracted the flies from your lips as you spat ugly, horrendous adjectives in my direction. I am no better than the cheap red wine that flew through the air, and crashed at the base of my retreating skull. Ruby red still trails from the spot you once stood, to the bedroom where I packed you in a suitcase, and left you by the door. I am no better than… or so you once told me. The sound of your voice was once one that left me steaming in a hot cup mixed with a fourth of agitation. The shrill sound of each beckoning call, the sureness of your words, the raspy whispers that escaped your throat as you once called me by another name. Once.

We called each other husband and wife. And once, you looked at me with the longing eyes of some distant memory. A memory that faded to a lull as your taillights disappeared into the drunken night. I see you in the kitchen, the bathroom before work, in the hallway at night, the bedroom the morning after you left.. Your figure is no more than a hologram, but the ghost of your presence haunts me like needles pricking my delicate skin. I see you in the broken promise of hot coffee which was no more than a frivolous suggestion. I see you for what you became. The monster you revealed.

The distance of you creates nightmares in my stomach as the waves crash and the air stands still in my lungs.

Exhale and remember, everything in life is temporary.


Hi Alchemist-san!


I am so glad to be here!

I watch all of you closely, and you seem nice. I am very shy, but I try to reach out. I hope we can be friends and “cook” together. My name is Oresia Ardon, a tiny fairy spirit from Tokyo, Japan. I love music, watching Hayao Miyazaki movies, and eating konpeito!! I have been artist since birth, but many people tell me to be a performer. I was not made this way. I value hardwork and effort, and so my fellow Japanese people say: 頑張ってください!
I’m excited to explore with all of you in Arganee!


Ah Arganee, we meet at last.

I’m Devorah. In Hebrew, my name means Bumble Bee. The bumble bee takes the sweetness from one flower and spreads it to the rest of them. Just like I, Devorah, intend to harvest sweetness and kindness and spread it to the rest of Arganee.

I’m very excited to be a remixer! Give me elements that would never go together and I can make them blend flawlessly!

Arganee is going to be fun. I’m off to “Cook” a story!