One has to start somewhere…
After finishing my sketch I ran into two dear friends who had come to the cafe.
Perhaps the cafés can be the new piazzettas somehow.
Here’s to spontaneous gathering and holiday cheers.
Posted in art,poetry,writing, Coffee, Ink, Quotes, sketching, The Situationist Internationale, tagged cafe chloe, cafe', journal, san diego, sketching on December 5, 2017| 3 Comments »
One has to start somewhere…
After finishing my sketch I ran into two dear friends who had come to the cafe.
Perhaps the cafés can be the new piazzettas somehow.
Here’s to spontaneous gathering and holiday cheers.
Posted in art, art,poetry,writing, Books, Coffee, Collage, digital collage, photography, writing, architecture, Digital Manipulation, Experiments, Ink, Mexico Lindo y Querido, Photography, Poetry, San Diego, sketching, Tijuana Diaries, tagged café bassam, cafe lulu, cafe', collages, poem to tijuana, Reading, rose, san diego, sketches on June 15, 2016| Leave a Comment »
A Mi Tijuana
Milton Ríos
Spanish | English
La olvidada, la 100 por ciento criticada!..
A la que puedes dar mil opiniones sobre ella
La única que es coherente con su equilibrio
Entre las cosas buenas y malas!
La ciudad malvada… la maravillada,
La llena de narcos!
Artistas, multicolores y muchos tantos…
Esta ciudad… ciudad de paso
Y paso a ser mía,
Mi ciudad! Mi metrópoli confundida
Ayer la mas violenta
Hoy el ejemplo de paz!
Pero solo en mi Tijuana se puede vivir esto!
Balazos, teatro… buena música, cineastas en acción
El party el revolución! La que ya no es nada
Por que nació la calle 6ta.
Donde se junta lo subterráneo,
Las culturas urbanas, donde no ahí negros ni blancos!
Ni mexicanos ni gringos…
lo que importa es la noche bohemia,
algo de baile y alcohol
que viva la diversión…
la ciudad de segunda!
De segundas oportunidades
Donde caen los deportados
Donde comen y duermen los emigrados,
Donde se respira libertad
Donde ahí policías buenos y malos!
Y aquí te preguntas? Para que ir al otro lado…
Si acaso nomas de compras,
a conocer lo bien planeado.
Pero para dormir a gusto! Para respirar a diario…
Con la adrenalina constante,
De Tijuana ahí que ser amante.
Y así a donde vallas al decir soy de Tijuana
Obtendrás ese silencio! Que es un silencio ganado
De respeto por que para criticar Tijuana
Solo nosotros los que la vivimos
Los que la hemos hecho nuestra
Y ser tijuanense, claro que satisface
Pero también pesa y cuesta!…
Posted in architecture, art, art,poetry,writing, Coffee, Collage, Drawing, Ink, sketchbook, sketching, Spontaneous Constructs, Thinking with my hands, Watercolor, tagged Buffalo, cafe', coffee watercolor, collage, Ny, painting with espresso coffee, sketchbook, SOciety of Architectural Historians COnference on April 19, 2013| Leave a Comment »
Posted in art,poetry,writing, Coffee, Drawing, Poetry, tagged cafe de la presse, cafe', Coffee, coffee & culture, culture, Futo Coffee, graphite, ink, masking letters, moments of urbanity, newschool of architecture and design, pilot pen, san francisco, urban moments on November 19, 2009| 2 Comments »
San Francisco – Cafe’ De La Presse
Legendary Literary Cafe’ a stone’s throw from the French Embassy. The staff’s uniforms were très French, the atmosphere European, and the cappuccino was ….flawless.
Collage, Pilot Pen on Paper
Pilot Pen on Paper. November 2009
All photographs taken with Lumix (Panasonic) camera, Leica wide lens.
San Diego: Newschool of Architecture and Design – Cafe’ A la Carte
Bringing coffee, culture and ‘moments of urbanity ‘, as Francisco Sanin, a dear professor in Syracuse|Florence, used to say.
The passage/hallway is transformed in a piazzetta; Adam, the owner, strums his guitar, chats with customers.
Brings book such as ‘Reading Lolita in Tehran’, and Russian lit.
Our very own coffee cart @ NewSchool: Cafe' A la Carte. Pilot pen, Graphite and Prismacolor white pencil on paper. November 2009
Arabic Coffee
Naomi Shihab Nye
It was never too strong for us:
make it blacker, Papa,
thick in the bottom,
tell again how the years will gather
in small white cups,
how luck lives in a spot of grounds.
Leaning over the stove, he let it
boil to the top, and down again.
Two times. No sugar in his pot.
And the place where men and women
break off from one another
was not present in that room.
The hundred disappointments,
fire swallowing olive-wood beads
at the warehouse, and the dreams
tucked like pocket handkerchiefs
into each day, took their places
on the table, near the half-empty
dish of corn. And none was
more important than the others,
and all were guests. When
he carried the tray into the room,
high and balanced in his hands,
it was an offering to all of them,
stay, be seated, follow the talk
wherever it goes. The coffee was
the center of the flower.
Like clothes on a line saying
You will live long enough to wear me,
a motion of faith. There is this,
and there is more.