Sentient Mentality

I think because I think I can


Learning dad

Was a kid, till I had one.  Now I dad, every day.

Its a verb more than any other I’ve ever known.

Breathing might be a close second, but I can hold my breath when I want.

I can never stop dadding.  Not ever. Every decision.  Every second of every day.

Took becoming one to understand what my parents did for me.




Been almost a year of putting someone else first.

Taking exhaustion to new definitions.

I can never stop dadding.  Not ever. Every decision.  Every second of every day.

Pride; didn’t know what that was.

Now it can’t, won’t and don’t stop.

This kind of love ripens my soul.

Thanks kid, and thanks dad… you both teach me new things about dadding every dad.

I won’t ever stop dadding.  Not ever.



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Boxed Up in a Circle

I try to see outside
Out the windows through the light and dark
The glare and the shadows
Outside the framework I’ve been given
To understand what this life is and is not

With eyes strained
Fighting the glue holding my lids shut
We hope to glimpse something never witnessed
Never imagined
Never contemplated

In dreams the limits start to break
Corners bend and solids liquify
One wonders if the energies in our minds try to teach us realities
If our chemical make up can talk to us
If the elements we stem from could only tell us their origins and destinies

Its not about the future though
Not even the past
I’m so blind to where we stand today as individuals
As groups
As a race
As a species

The existential picture is forever out of reach
We chase the unknown question to the unfathomable answer around in circles.
As the planet spins, as it orbits the sun we perpetually dizzy ourselves in our minds.

Our circles of friends, of family, of influence
They do nothing to open the box
The one with my name on the label

To each their own box
Pretending their boxes are open
Or feeling locked up inside and acknowledging the lack of light

Forming thought based on learnings
Based on teachings
Based on experiences
All from the tiniest peephole
Carved in the side of our boxes

How can we expect clarity?
Where can we find insight?

Where is the peace when our box dangles in limbo
Twirling like the mobile around the sun
In our boxes
Waiting for the universe to grow up

Finding peace in the balance
somewhere between chaos and nothingness.

So hey,  those who know me know that I’ve taken a keen interest in the kitchen over the past few years.  Its led to recognition of my passion and while my first publication here isn’t wholly indicative of my tastes and daily cooking adventures, it is a sample that I’d really like to share with you.

Just in time for the holidays, I’m offering, to you, my first of hopefully many cookbooks to come.  Check it out here:


DIY Tasty Gift Ideas Cookbook at

My first offering gives you 10 great ideas for stocking stuffers or fun little gifts to bring to a friends place for dinner. Inside, you’ll find 3 soup mixes, 3 spice mixes, and 3 snack options and a bonus hot chocolate mix that I really, really  enjoyed crafting.  These are fun to make, great for lazy cooking moments, and practical gifts for the non-chefs in the house or campers in the family.  You might even just want to keep these around the house for yourself.   Check it out.

I’d love to hear your comments and suggestions.

Thanks for your support.

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A taste for life

So there I was, turning a blind eye to the obvious, and shoving my future down my throat.

She’s been a best friend throughout my life; comforting me at the worst of times, helping me celebrate the grand occasions.

Little did I know what too much of a good thing could do to a person.  I didn’t realize any of this because it didn’t seem plausible, but the love of my life was making me fat; giving me heartburn.

How many people consider a daily staple the focus of one’s prime reason for existence.  Could you fall in love with air?  What about sunlight?  I suppose if we knew what life was without these things, we’d appreciate them more.  All along, my other brain, (no the other one), was trying to tell me my purpose.  It was speaking through my own mouth; using my own tongue.

Sometimes, I guess, what’s already on your plate, sitting right in front of you, is the hardest thing to see.  When you’re trying to cook up all kinds of other ideas, mashing them together, chopping them apart; trying to find the perfect recipe for your life, its tough to boil it down to the simplest form.

Dearest love, I finally see you.  You and I already make a great team, but I vow to improve what we can do together.

With you there is no limit to what we can experience in life.

You nourish me, sustain me, inspire me.

Its one thing to prepare you every day, and take you in as I need to, its another altogether to give you the respect you deserve and savour your every nuance.  To share you with the world and write about what you’re capable of will be my greatest honour.

© 2014 U.Cohen

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Remember that time…

When it was all so simple;  When it was all so innocent; When having fun was the only concern.

Do you remember

When you drew your first picture; Crayons and glue; And scissors and play-doh, red, yellow, blue?

Imagine that time

When you first rode that bike; When you waited for a moment; When dad wasn’t looking; Just in case you fell.

Do you recall

When you first felt responsible; When you first felt guilt; When you told your first lie?

Does it bring up memories

When you had your first crush; When a smile first made you feel something more than happy; When your gut shook at the sight of her?

Think back

When it all crashed down; When you couldn’t stop from falling deeper; When it made no sense at all.


When you tried to grow in spite of it all; When not much really mattered anymore; When you shut it all out.

Reflect on

When the fog cleared;  When you realized all you’d been through; When you learned to let go.

Could you conceive

When you’d do it all over again; When you thought finding someone meant the end of the search; When you promised to try harder?

Contemplate over

When fun ruled your world; When you stopped trying so hard at everything; When you started to dream again.

Did you foresee

When chance meeting would bring an end to it; When the rollercoaster could finally stop; What the euphoric sensation would actually feel like?

Had you anticipated

When you’d just be yourself; When you’d appreciate her for who she is; When the only thing you’d ever want to do again is create memories together?

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Pardon my abesntia

Pardon me for ignoring you

Its just a little something I sometimes do

I’m not proud of it

Are you perfect?

Pardon my absence

From common sense

My schedule’s all distorted

Where am I?

Pardon me for caring

What you put yourself through

Where you’re headed, where you’re not

What’s the story anyway?

Pardon my love

Its overwhelming of course

I can be intolerable

Pillow fight!

Pardon my absentia

From a clear frame of mind

You do that to me

Pretty much all the time.


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Leroy is one of my first oils intended and given as a gift to my friend who was upset over the loss of her little guy.  Leroy was his original name which she later changed to … I can remember.  I was with her when she got him and while I’m a “dog guy”, as far as little lizards go, I thought he was pretty cute.

Unlike most paintings, this was completely deliberate and thought out.  Although the specific details worked themselves out, I was able to tell it to myself as though a story from background to foreground.  It may be the only time that’s happened.

This style of mine has remained a constant since I picked up the brush for the second time.  The first being water colours as a kid.  I love a gradient background with varying levels of glaze to it, followed by as much texture as I can get; usually with a knife rather than a brush.  There’s just something about carving paint that I enjoy.

I’m looking for photography tips when it comes to my paintings.  Seems there’s always a lighting problem.  Can’t afford special equipment at the moment, and I know there’s google, but maybe you all have some experience I could learn from.

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12:12, 12/12/12

What does the number mean to you?

The 12th day of the 12th month at the age of 12… wish I could, but I’ll never forget.

12 bottles in a case of liqour.

Two 12’s in a case of beer.

12 smokes in half a pack, what a way to start the day.

12 inches in a foot long joint or was it 13; what a way to end it.

Sometimes 12 hours sleep in 12 nights.

12 years after wasn’t enough. Another 12 … almost there.  I think its about right.

What is 12?  Just a number?

Where does your strength come from?

A day?  A number?  A name?  A song?

Something meant to be right but ended up going wrong?

I can feel my skull splitting with an urge, a surging need

To empower you with your own history

To make things all right again.

Just to be me.


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How strange that a stranger should be no stranger at all.

In fact, stranger you can be closer than any friend I could call.

What’s stranger is how strange my friends would look at me

If they knew I’d estranged them just to feel free.

Do I make those friends strangers to who I think I am

Or are they strangers who I call friends who I don’t allow to see.

Is that the same or just strange coincidence

One can put themselves in the midst of a stranger mess.

There’s nothing strange about what I write, it comes from down deep.

Its still filtered for you, but strangely more for me.