Tag Archives: cool

Jamaica

~ 0 ~
SFO in the early morning
MtVC
sleep
triple couple brunch date
SFO in the afternoon
work
packing
eating
yellow fever film
SFO late at night
Japanese, Mexican, American, or Chinese?

~ 1 ~
Hank Williams on the
turbulent red-eye
flashlights in the early morning
United Club at IAD
hella babies on the
flight to Jamaica
the first Jamaican woman to speak to/about me:
“it’s not fair. he’s not even using it,”
referencing my hair
all customs agents are the same stern
accosted by taxi drivers
one is hella chill so we go w him ($15)
he walks slow as hell
“we grow up w weed”
tried to sell me some but his guy is out
Caribic House
gentleman clerk
third floor balcony view of the sea
buy weed from souvenir shop ($20 for crap)
Pork Pit
buy weed from random vagrant (J$200 for crap)

~ 2 ~
breakfast at the Mocha Cafe
Knutsford Express to Negril
buy Blue Cheese from taxi driver ($5 for quality)
Yoga Centre
stroll and smoke along the beach
the German dude
yoga in the evening
shower and drinks
Alfred’s Ocean Palace
couple drinks and cricket at the Sunrise

~ 3 ~
smoothies and breakfast at the YC
chillin on the beach
spring rolls and papaya salad
Natalie naps / Americanah
drinks at One Love bar
curried conch w rice & peas at sweet spot

~ 4 ~
goodbye YC & Negril
KE to Kingston
wild winding ride east
the big city
the Spanish Court,
free rum punch on arrival
walking in the rain to
Devon House
coffee for her, coffee i-scream for me
walking in the lightening rain
Natalie goes chic in the city
divine Indian at Nirvanna

~ 5 ~
free breakfast: eggs, platanos, festival, bacon, fruit, coffee, water
taxi drive with a former yam farmer to
the National Gallery of Jamaica
walk through saturday downtown market
taxi to the grocery
Tashanna the angel
Natalie runs on the treadmill, i walk to KE
sunset swimming in the freezing infinity pool
hot bath w love
shower the hair
dress and small dinner
last home drink
up up up the hill to
dub club
smoky dub music in the clouds
danced
saw fireworks
and popcorn
and dancing
circles, circling back to a
champagne glass next to the drivers seat
flask of herb wine next to mine
slowly, slithering back to New Kingston
in the nighttime of a new day

~ 6 ~
free breakfast: kitchen sink omelet, fruit, coffee, water, festival, platanos, and a complimentary mimosa
walking to the banks, several failed withdrawals
packing up
waiting for Robert
red shirt, tan truck, big smile
cash out
ride up
the treehouse
the tour
the pool and trail
dinner at 6?
acki and shellfish, peas and rice, greens not calaloo
reading and drinking
scrabble in bed under the net
never ending music for a wake, then an end

~ 7 ~
wake up puffy eyed a little before 9
shirtless on the balcony
big rainbow across the sky
Chef says breakfast is on the way
coffee, scrambled eggs w veggies, fried plantains, breadfruit (looked like dry pineapple slices), slices of mango, a peeled orange, everything fresh, juicy, lovely
more coffee, Bobby and Chef smoking
prep
driving to Holywell
the waterfall hike
smoke at the falls
kiss on the hills
walk to David’s coffee plantation
the Chinese crew, little kids giggling and playing games, the two big dogs loafing and eyeing everyone, the coffee man deeply darkened by the sun yet profoundly lightened by endless cups of coffee
walking back home
Natalie’s forgotten R1: the run
gap cafe too fancy
walk thru the military yard
flask of clear rum, water, cheese puffs, and chocolates at the bubbles stop
walk home
cold shower (Ginger on drums)
wifi, soup, and dinner (more Fela)
seafish, fried carrots and greens, potato, yams, plantains
greasy spliff
drinks and reading

~ 8 ~
up a little earlier, round 830
coffee and breakfast on the taller balcony
acki and fish, breadfruit, fried plantains, papaya, orange
reading reading reading
the ride to Craighton
the $25 tour w Jerome
280,000 coffee plants—arabica not robusta—the latter 52% of the world coffee, the former 48%—though like the #1 most traded good (oil), the #2 (coffee) is often adulterated as there’s no standard nor authority—and Blue Mountain arabica is something special, with 70% of its sales going to wealthy Japanese—Jamaicans themselves drink instant coffee—unless they’re like Robert—usually Arabica ripens in 5-7 months, in Blue Mountains it takes 9-11—juicier, sweeter—Twyman and other north side farmers get less sun so their harvest is shorter
three cups of coffee after the lesson
walk to red light
bananas and coconut snack from the roadside rasta
walk from red light
Natalie loses her shades
hitching a ride w the 33 year old who spent 20 years living in Kingston before moving to London, comes back to visit family every xmas, warned us of the dangers of hitch hiking
eits cafe
walking up and a ride w David, bobby’s coz
walking to prince valley
glasses for a drink and phone
meeting, laughing, smoking w omero from Oakland and Tazia from near Kingston
drinks and dinner: beans, greens, and pumpkin rice, perfection
sunset
beer and adieu
reading, reading, hearts, reading

~ 9 ~
up a little earlier, around 815
Ovid on the balcony
coffee and breakfast in the usual spot
acki and fish, plantains, coco bread
packing up and paying
peace
dj dale down the mountain
bob Marley museum
best dinner (fried chicken, beef stew, pork stew, or curried goat?) plus rum
two wedding episodes of friends

~ 10 ~
coffee, toast, and fruit on the balcony
Mahogany Beach
food and drink on James (same menu)
crazy dance boat party TV
Turtle Beach
souvenir shopping i
drinks on James
moms restaurant (fish stew)

~ 11 ~
coffee, toast, and fruit on the balcony
souvenir shopping ii
passage to passage to India (naan, South Indian chicken, chicken tikka masala)
chilling at KE
KE to Mo Bay
El Greco, cocktail on arrival
cocktails and joint on the balcony (Half Pint)
bellboy escort to room, J$400
atm, the old walk
1/2 lb ribs at pork pit
the walk back
another round

~ 12 ~
up around 8
finished Herzog
breakfast: one American, one Jamaican (mine is fried fish, greens, small banana, yucca, dumpling, and Nat’s French toast)
old white retired everywhere
blacks go J, whites go A
down to the street, rum up
packing, Brilliant Corners, checking out
smoke on the cliff side
delayed flight
walk down to the park shade
bk fries
taxi to airport
lines, lines, food court, hearts
exit row flight
chaos at CLT Continue reading

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the illegal music leecher’s control panel

Screen shot 2013-03-10 at 2.03.21 PM

in reverse order, Discogs for exact release details, Wikipedia for quick easy research, AllMusic for consistently trustworthy reviews, and What.CD to seal the deal. Continue reading

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Twitter hair

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Jane’s Manifesto

LOL Continue reading

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when my soul starts growling [archive]

everything’s so crazy. i’ve just been rethinking more intensely than i have for awhile that i’m actually in Athens. i guess i stopped thinking about it as i settled in more, but the arrival of my family (minus danny) on sunday really just brought it all back.

following two days of awesome class trips (but also early class trips), i thought i’d take advantage of saturday night and get tanked. Elaina, Hannah, Sam and i taxied up to the Maddy-Xanthe-Caitlin place where we all had a little whiskey, a little vodka, a little tequila, before heading out to monastiraki. i don’t remember what the original plans were, but the revised plans involved this place called spirit. thank god i had drunk myself into at least a hint of aggression and said Fuck. No. We are going to the dirty alley.

oh, the dirty alley. monastiraki bustles with night life, but there’s this one dirty little sketch alley that intrigued me from week one in this ancient city, but i’d only gone there once, when andreas’ friend took me. so we went. and it rocked. a small bar, rock & roll, cool people, and enough girls to make me think i found a lesbian bar (it wasn’t). a few minutes after arriving, i get a call from my dad saying he just landed at the airport. ! i had no idea, i thought they were coming sunday afternoon. i tell him where i’m at and to give me a call when he gets to his hotel, a five minute walk from the bar we’re at.

a couple drinks later i get the call and billy and my dad come down to meet us. i’m still pretty trashed and it blows my mind to see people i associate with a different half of the world. anyway, they came back to the bar we had all been at, it’s blasting music still, and my dad buys me and my six friends a round of drinks. he has a cigar with a beer and looks sooooooooooo cool. i go between talking (yelling) with them and dancing with the girls. crazy weird funny great night.

on sunday i woke up early (10am) to meet the family by 11. i tried to be a good tour guide, but i haven’t even done half this stuff myself. and this is actually the reason. i know i’m going to have many opportunities to visit the Acropolis, so why bother doing it until the super-tourists come? we saw the beauty that is 2500 years of decay, walked through the ancient Agora and then the new one, where they have a ruckus of selling instead of ruins. we got some delicious lunch, lazied around in their hotel, walked through the National Gardens to my apartment, where we lazied around some more before visiting a local cafe and enjoying life. everyone napped and we met later (i brought Elaina) for dinner in psiri.

today i fucking aced my mythology midterm. maybe i really should stop being so cocky about it. i might end up being severely disappointed. in lit, we’re back to poetry. we’re reading Giorgos Seferis, one of the most important modern Greek poets, greatly influenced by Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot, among others. i hope you’re ready for some excerpts. from The King of Asini:

And the poet lingers, looking at the stones, and asks himself
does there really exist
among these ruined lines, edges, points, hollows and curves
does there really exist
here where one meets the path of rain, wind and ruin
does there exist the movement of the face, shape of the tenderness
of those who’ve waned so strangely in our lives,
those who remained the shadow of waves and thoughts with the sea’s boundlessness
or perhaps no, nothing is left but the weight
the nostalgia for the weight of a living existence
there where we now remain unsubstantial, bending
like the branches of a terrible willow tree heaped in unremitting despair
while the yellow current slowly carries down rushes uprooted in the mud
image of a form that the sentence to everlasting bitterness has turned to stone:
the poet a void.

i’ve been really fascinated reading this stuff, because of the references made to ancient Greek mythology. you find the references throughout all the famous literature of the world, but it’s different here. it’s like the poets are grasping with how they should identify with their, if not blood ancestors, then at least their geographical ancestors. decay of great civilizations, everything to nothing, who am i? from Helen:

Nightingale nightingale nightingale,
what is a god? What is not a god? And what is there in
between them?

man? man, from Last Stop:

‘The same thing over and over again,’ you’ll tell me, friend.
But the thinking of a refugee, the thinking of a prisoner, the thinking
of a person when he too has become a commodity —
try to change it; you can’t.
Maybe he would have liked to stay king of the cannibals
wasting strength that nobody buys,
to promenade in fields of agapanthi
to hear the drums with bamboo overhead,
as courtiers dance with prodigious masks.
But the country they’re chopping up and burning like a pine tree — you see it
either in the dark train, without water, the windows broken, night after night
or in the burning ship that according to the statistics is bound to sink —
this is rooted in the mind and doesn’t change
this has planted images like those trees
that cast their branches in virgin forests
so that they rivet themselves in the earth and sprout again;
they cast their branches that sprout again, striding mile after mile;
our mind’s a virgin forest of murdered friends.
And if I talk to you in fables and parables
it’s because it’s more gentle for you that way; and horror
really can’t be talked about because it’s alive,
because it’s mute and goes on growing:
memory-wounding pain
drips by day drips in sleep.

i think this has actually been my favorite poet so far. maybe it’s because he often uses words like “abyss” and “everywhere.” i like that. on wednesday i have to present on his other poems in relation to the Wasteland, by Eliot. wish me luck.

want to know something funny? i’m already working on a mix for the summer. i love you, Adam, for starting this last summer. i am already so pumped: i’ve got 5 songs, 16:40, 2007/1970/1971/2009/1981, electronic/rock/reggae. i hope you’re all as excited as i am.

by the way, they are teaching robots to love. how does it feel to be human? Continue reading

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