Tag Archives: soup


~ 0 ~
SFO in the early morning
triple couple brunch date
SFO in the afternoon
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
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
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
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
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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notes from my phone

can a person be a laxative?

can a person with exceedingly attractive breasts be a laxative?

legit, those are some notes on my phone from the weekend.

i was standing on a sunny San Francisco rooftop–high ass fuck–listening to my friend, who happens to have exceedingly large and attractive breasts, rant about so and such and etc and ya. some dude i didn’t know was nodding to her stream of sounds and meaning, and i was nodding too. but i wasn’t really comprehending or even computing in the least degree. on the contrary, i was nodding while wondering whether a person’s voice and the things they say could incite a man to need to take a shit.

luckily, i managed to hold it in.

here’s something much less disgusting:

thighs two pack
mushrooms packet
three onions
bottle of wine
box of chicken broth

that’s Amanda’s list of ingredients for this weird wine-y soup that’s actually incredible delicious. well, depending on who you ask.

she once gave me some to try. a week later, i remembered it existed, reheated it, and found it quite delectable. so i decided to make it myself. in fact, i roped Natalie into making it too. we drove to the Alemany Farmers Market (late as usual), picked up the essential ingredients, and returned to my kitchen to attempt the soup.

now, Natalie is a cook. and i’m a poet. or musician. or wizard. or some shit. in any case, earlier in the soup-crafting process, we started to butt heads about some crucial decisions. Amanda was unavailable, so we couldn’t consult her about the exact process and finer points of putting this soup together, so we were left to our own devices. Natalie wanted to use her cool cooking skillz to add a bunch of spices and use less wine and all this shit. i was like, no, no spices. just wine. wine. it. up.

so we made separate soups. at the same time. a soup-off.

how did it go? fucking amazing, obviously. i had soup for days.

so many notes on my phone, so little time. here’s one from the Tool concert this year:

old life new life
body mind

tool is inside black hole

astonishment at walkijg inside of a cave

yeah, what? let’s see if i can retrace my steps.

see, Tool makes pretty strange music. they have strange visuals to match the strange music. when your sensory devices meet with these strange musicks and strange visuals, your brain begins to brew strange thoughts. for example, i stopped taking for granted the concert experience and instead begin to marvel at the strangeness, if you will, of it all. Bill Graham Civic Auditorium, the name we bestowed upon this large (for humans) man-made cave, filled to the brim with swaying apes captivated by the rumbling thunder of lights and astonishing lightning of sound emanating from the four apes on the raised platform. imagine an alien being, like Mozart, stepping into this cave. or imagine a caveman. would he be jealous of our cave? imagine a being from another planet or another universe? what would they think? would they be unimpressed? would they think fondly of memories from their own life? that’s the “astonishment at walkijg inside of a cave.”

so i was stoned at a Tool concert and thinking about aliens, this is true. i can’t just blame Tool, space has been consuming my mind more than usual. so for some reason i started thinking that maybe Tool is what you get when you go inside of a black hole. actually, no, i don’t remember what this was about at all. i’m sure it was epically profound though, stoned ronny of the past.

one of the show highlights were these words Maynard spoke between songs:


oh man, here’s a golden one:

the way a beautiful girl can just ruin your night

i’m not giving any context on that one except that it’s from 201301102151. maybe i’ll just remember something for once.

this is kind of clever, from 201301181153:

sometimes i don’t actually feel like i truly truly lived in the moment i loved because if i did i would still be there.

once i heard a beautiful song with Japanese lyrics that sounded like…

it’s some tsunami

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Portola Redwoods and the Ring of Strength

when a wizard discovers +3 to strength, he will welcome it gladly. but in the time that passes henceforth, he will continue growing in natural strength. the woman sleeping at his side powered him beyond his recognition. she was a +300 to strength, at least. Continue reading

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possible reasons i got an ocular migraine today

started while eating minestrone soup
typical stressful bike ride home
hair tied back too tight?
not enough water?
garden salsa sun chips
salmon, asparagus, salad
honey nut cheerios w banana
shitload of Swiss cheese night before
mushroom spinach pasta night before
powerful bourbon and wine night before Continue reading

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possible reasons i got an ocular migraine today

stressing all day and then thinking about all the terrible things i would tell in this post
opening the computer too soon after returning from work (i.e. eight hours of computer looking)
cup of ramen noodles
extra steak
a small rectangle of medium cheddar cheese
half a chocolate donut
lunch: kale, beets, steak, rice, and brussels sprouts
half an old-fashioned glazed
breakfast: cinnamon toast crunch
dinner the night before: philly cheesesteak
mercury retrograde

oh well, maybe i’ll never know. Continue reading

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Strong / Whitfield

in which the Hero decides to just boringly copy horrible content from his past self instead of carving glistening new letters about glimmering blue memories. Continue reading

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it is a good day to die


it wasn’t until yesterday, sitting at a Boudin bakery café in hillsdale shopping center a little before 1900, that i realized my luck had finally taken a turn for the better. squeezing out what was hopefully the last few drops of my bad luck by eating at this particular Boudin at the exact time that they no longer had any bread bowls, i contented myself with a normal bowl of clam chowder with a side piece of bread for dipping in the creamy white ambrosia.

an hour earlier, i had arrived at the mall a little early (stupidly) for my 1815 appointment at the Apple store genius bar. the MacBook Pro saga continues. what was wrong with my computer, you ask? well, to answer that, we have to travel back in time…

the year was 1998, the month was march. on the 2nd, data sent from the Galileo probe indicated that Jupiter’s moon Europa had a liquid ocean under a thick crust of ice. a couple days later, the Supreme Court of the United States ruled that federal laws banning on-the-job sexual harassment also apply when both parties are the same sex. three days after the earlier space announcement, NASA revealed that the Clementine probe orbiting the Moon had found enough water in polar craters to support a human colony and rocket fueling station. that same day, NASA announced the choice of United States Air Force Lt. Col. Eileen Collins as commander of a future Space Shuttle Columbia mission to launch an X-ray telescope, making Collins the first woman to command a space shuttle mission. halfway through the month, on the 14th, an earthquake measuring 6.9 on the Richter scale hit southeastern Iran. over a week later, Titanic won a record 11 oscars, a milestone followed shortly by two massacres: the jonesboro massacre, in which two young boys (aged 11 and 13 years) hidden in woodlands fired upon and killed four students and one teacher at westside middle school, and the oued bouaicha massacre in Algeria, in which 52 people were killed with axes and knives, 32 of them babies under the age of two. on march 27, the FDA approved Viagra for use as a treatment for male impotence, the first pill to be approved for this condition in the United States. and on march 31, 1998, prepubescent, pubescent, and postpubescent boys around the world went to war.

yes, one of the greatest video games of all time (for me, up there with DiabloOcarina of TimePokémon, Super Mario World, Super Smash Bros., and Tetris, among other essentials i’m surely forgetting), StarCraft changed my fucking life. the races were spellbinding, their intertwined stories were like Shakespearean tragedies, the cut scenes were volatile and enchanting, and, perhaps most enduringly, online matches were heart-racingly intense and addictive. if anything’s a gateway to starting harder drugs, it’s not weed, it’s StarCraft.

in the early days of online playing, my biggest concern was that, just at the moment my six tanks backed by a couple battlecruisers initiated siege on some loon halfway across the world, my mom would pick up one of the phones in the house, connected to the one and only phone line, cutting off my sad 56k connection. actually, those were the fun days when people with 56k would look down on the 28k kids, and if you had a cable or dsl connection, you were like a god. sometimes my mom, or whoever was the culprit, would hear the ZZZZKlangeddiooiishhhhhh over the phone line fast enough to hang up and reconnect me to my game. other times, however, i’d just sadly stare at the “Waiting for players…” overlay.

addictive. addictive. addictive. in Arizona, my cousins and i had to implement a system of half hour or hour blocks because there was only one or two computers and nobody wanted anything to do with the sun, the grass, the outside at all. we all just wanted to play StarCraft, damnit.

twelve years later, that’s all i fucking wanted. to play a goddamn game of StarCraft. but things had changed a lot between the original and its sequel:

System requirements for StarCraft

System requirements for StarCraft II: Wings of Liberty

  • 2.6 GHz processor or equivalent
  • GB RAM for XP, 1.5GB for Vista and 7;
    2 GB RAM for Mac OS
  • 128 MB video card for Windows;
    512 MB video card for Mac OS
  • DirectX version 9.0c or better
  • 12 GB hard disk space
  • Internet connection

my MacBook Pro was a beastly machine four years ago–2.16 GHz Intel Core 2 Duo, 1 GB RAM, 128 MB video card, 120 GB hard drive–but now my fans were failing, my hard drive was dying, my memory could hardly handle two applications at once, and i decided i would have go out and spend $2200 on the exact new MacBook Pro i wanted.

but i didn’t have $2200. so instead, i went to the burlingame Apple store genius bar and got some advice. yo dude. my drive is dying, i think. (yes, he says, it is.) and i clearly need more memory. (yes, he says, you do.) but i’m thinking, this shit’s old. maybe i should just buy a new computer. (no, he says, if i were you i’d buy a new hard drive and extra RAM for cheap and have a third-party install it because your computer is still a beautiful machine, just as beautiful as all these sparkly unibodies you see lined up behind you.)

so i took his advice and bought a 320 GB 7200rpm hard drive and 2 GB memory for about $150. then i had this third-party downtown called ‘union square computer repair’ (oh! the poetry! used to be called the much more mundane ‘powerbook guy’) install the new drive for $100 (i did the RAM myself). i bring the fucker home, with a newly purchased mouse and OH MY GOD STARCRAFT II and, of course, my left fan refuses to spin, causing everything to full on crash even when i’m doing the smallest task, let alone load up a top-of-the-line computer game released this year.

i take the shitfuckpisscockcomputer back to union square angrily demanding that they fix my fan that they clearly broke by installing my new hard drive, while i remain quite conscious of the fact that the fan had been on its last legs for awhile and they had nothing to do with it. they act apologetic, even though they know what i know and probably know that i know that they know that i know, and they take in the laptop, open it up, blow some dust off the fan, and give it back to me working, no charge.

this time i bring the fucker home, totally sure it’s going to work for real totally this time i just know it, and… crash. crash, crash, crash, and burn. i actually thought i smelled some burning coming up through the keyboard a couple times i tried playing the game. well then. maybe it’s not me. i google “starcraft 2 overheating” and lo! behold! “Blizzard acknowledges bug” “Blizzard offers temporary fix to overheating problem” “Blizzard repeatedly rams ultralisk claw-shaped icicle through the anus of desperate and nostalgic men everywhere.” after implementing the fix (and tweaking my fan speeds a bit), the game. motherfucking. works. i actually played through two whole campaign bits and even sat through a couple stupid shitty movie sequences, paying no mind to my computer panting, wheezing, and puffing like a cigarette smoker climbing San Francisco hills.

so it works. so it’s possible. but i’m not totally convinced i trust that fucker of a left fan because at high rpms it sounds like a trainwreck, and not the good kind. and that’s about when you see me start walking into hillsdale mall, sights set on the Apple store. i talk to the genius, no, i spill my motherfucking guts. i tell him as much of this story as i possibly can in thirty seconds. they’re busy people, after all. “new hard drive… more RAM… StarCraft… 2… want… play…” he chuckles a bit, shaking his head, and shares his similar sob story, that none of the four computers at his house can handle the game. you’re not making me hopeful. i don’t care, i played it on mine. it happened. i just want to know about this fan. listen to it. is it dying? is my graphics card going to blow up? will i ever enjoy the sublime death of a Zerg swarm ever again without hearing a clunk-clunk-clunk too?

maybe it was my shitty looking bruised up eyes, maybe it was because i dropped the name “StarCraft,” maybe it was because he saw on his records that i had paid $100 to replace the right fan six months ago, or maybe it was because he sensed that i was actually the type of asshole that would take the time out of his day (like i have shit else to do) to write this post. whatever it was, he just offered to replace the fan for just $20 (the cost of the part), voiding the $80 labor costs. he said it wasn’t necessary, said the fan sounded fine to him, but he offered anyway. genius of love.

thinking all of this over over a delicious bowl of Boudin, i couldn’t help but thinking that my luck might be coming back. but i was wrong.

later that night, as units i didn’t yet know the names of poured into my base, obliterating my shitty army over my friend Matt’s attempts to save me, i remembered that luck is a fucking lie. we won 3/6 of our 2v2 matches because sometimes we sucked, sometimes they sucked, sometimes we kicked ass, and sometimes they kicked ours. you get x probes, you get y minerals, and you get about z minutes. build up something beautiful and kill.

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