Posts Tagged ‘coffee’



i like the early morning,
when there are no people talking;

the only sounds that break the silence
are the ones that tend to lull
us back to sleep, in a slow rhythm:
white noise from the fan,
breaths, hot and soft, on the pillow.

i like that, when the first rays
light up the bedroom,
usually there is only
content quietness.

I am reassured
by early mornings,
by the simple routine of
hot water flowing to the ground coffee,
the clinking of the mugs on the table.

i like the brief moments
when my body is still infused
with the confusion of dreams:
consciousness still seeping into reality.

I am comforted by
the smell and warmth of the sheets,
of the shampoo and soap you wash with,
the brewing coffee,
the sizzling waffles.

it’s one of the very few moments
when I get to just be.


on the go 4


Taken the calles by assault today, by myself. Put on the rock play list and walked until my muscles protested. Got completely and utterly lost, at last, disoriented in the sea of Argentinean faces: alone in the middle of them all. Finally, I had no voices talking my ears off or telling me what to do and what not to do. It felt good to be in silence, the only sounds being the riffs of electric guitars and the buzzing of cars and ruffle of birds’ feathers and walking of feet. It felt fresh to just watch the people go by, warming myself up with a micro bottle of Jack Daniels in on hand and, later, a cup of coffee in one of the thousand nameless cafés… Cozy and dry, just sitting there with my poor Spanish, I jotted down what I could in my little black notebook, a few thoughts and feelings in the few minutes I had to spare and to enjoy in solitude.

One thing is, though, that as much as I love the yellow lights, neons and the people perched on the windows of the charming and calm coffee houses, I miss seeing the friendly neighborhood watering hole and its usual drunks, hanging around like flies, pestering other and wallowing in their own drunk sorrows . There are none here (and God, have I looked)… Not a single pub that looks like a place to unwind, mindlessly, without having to order an overpriced pastry to accompany my time. I won’t complain, though, for only by being alone today, the coffee tasted better, felt cheaper, and the fatty medialuna seemed softer.

Later, feeling much, much lighter, I changed whatever I could in coins and took the bus with no definite destination and was able to end up in the museum. And art, even if too complex and escaping, awed me once again with its powers. Not only I felt moved but filled, the joy of what the brain can’t understand but that the eyes, I hope to God, will never fail to see. My own art and muse felt like flowing out, finally, blossoming and transforming into something warmer, better. Things changed in me, even if only for a day. Happier, I was. Brighter I felt. I’ve also caught myself looking more thoroughly and kinder at life here, and although I haven’t faced many mirrors lately, I could bet that my face was looking nicer.

I whistled all the way home. Dinner was less miserable tonight, and the moon shone huge in the pitch black sky. Now, back in my lumpy bed and scratchy sheets, for no reason, i have these lyrics stuck in my head: “this was a shopping mall / now it is covered with flowers.”

Maybe things will turn up, like frown looked at upside down.

Maybe, it’s the weather.