~ two-bit poetry on a stick ~ |
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Breakfast I wish I brought all my folks mp3s with me I really needed to listen to Beth Amsel tonight, or Kris Delmhorst. According to Terry Pratchett (in Soul Music) there are three different types of musicians: 1) The serious ones, the one who can really play and work in orchestras and the like 2) folk singers who really can't play but that's OK since most of them can't sing anyway and 3) the trobadours who serenade their lovers and who buy instruments every once in a while because when an angry husband bursts in on the lovers, his instrument is the last thing he thinks about as he jumps naked from the window. HAHAHAAH. I'm bouncing off the walls from the coffee now. I've had 2 cups and so far Echo Valley 1 vs. Beaver Creek 0. Both were roasted dark, Arabica, mininal to little chikory added. Good stuff. But Beaver Creek ground it under 10 seconds. And I don't have a grinder in SA so I can't get just the beans. Dammity. Funny how I got addicted to it. When I was a teenager, I used to drink coffee (I hated it) just so I can smoke (I hated it) in outdoor cafes and look cool. Now I write better with it (it's all mental I think). And now that they're going to tighten the smoking laws here I wanna go back home. No one cares about the smoking laws over there. The pollution is so bad anyway. I'm glad the South Coast has excellent coffee. That's something Joburg sorely lacks. As far as I'm concerned, SA can stick their Wimpy coffee (haha a pun right there!) where the sun don't shine. Wimpy coffee is like "...sex on a boat, it's fucking close to water." If I were to tell you about the best cup of coffee I've ever had I would tell you of the sweet smell of weed, rum and coke, unbearably cold beer, showering in countless shooting stars under a black sky, falling asleep at 3 am on the shore and waking up at 6 am soaking wet with my wallet almost washed out to sea. And how I grabbed it in time although her picture got ruined and walked up to a rickety coffee shop just above a dive shop having freshly made cheesecakes and lying still damp on a yellow and green striped hammock taking in the smell of a shelf full of old German and French books. Talking to good 'ol Simon who's English skin was puckering up in the Philippine heat, walking around in his grey Thai pants, chattering non-stop about how he misses his wife while using a plunger to make us coffee. And making fresh cheesecake because he felt sorry that I got locked out of where I was staying and had to spend the night outside. I said, no. It's been a long time since I felt the ground under me, it was a good night. Here, I should be making YOU cheesecake. Pass the cream. Eyes so green - 24.08.07 |
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©2005 two-bit poet ©2007 image rdk ledrew |
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