April 30//At the photo studio

Building on the photo I posted April 28, here are a few examples I see of modern photostudio techniques on my way to work. They are popular, and pretty inventive, and seem to picture babies as either 1) animals, 2) helpless, or 3) destined to become holy, or some combination thereof. Another framed photo, not shown here but enlarged and with a prime place in the vitrine, shows a baby sticking his tongue out. It seems that here, atleast with more frequency, babies are represented as starting from the ground level, as little rascals in one way or another, and growing towards god, whereas in the west we see them as little angels, just fallen from grace. I guess it depends what baby you're talking about, but from what I gather, I think the first vision is a little more apt.

Now there's a happy boy. Behind him is the black cube during the pilgrimage. Pretty imposing dress for a four year old. There IS a way to get him in good with god early on.  

Much better than that laser background I always wanted in elementary school. 

I've been there, done that 

It's a cwuel, cwuel woald  

April 29//DARNA Farm School

2 weeks old, at the DARNA farm school

turns out I laugh just like a goat, heeeehehehe 

April 29//Tall Tale I: REAL NEWS

I’m not currently committed to the news in the traditional sense, but since your infinite curiosity awaits, I’ll report that today my stray cat ran away. I found it under the wheels of a car. It was black and white and the exact size of my fist. I can make my fist smaller than ever, now that I cut my nails regularly down to the cushions to play lounge piano at the Tangerinn when I go and the awful disco music is silent. This never happens, more like years ago, when I am told the classification of the patrons was half human, half shell, no one but barnacle-crusted sailors. Providence shines on the place through xeroxes of photocopies of Burroughs, Kerouac, and the captive recapitulative scribblings of Ginsburg on the walls. Seeing as the bartender mixes drinks with the idea a gin martini is too strong a fix, downing gunpowder tea to stay awake till the wee AM, things have changed, a mere five bottles of alcohol back him, one is coffee liqueur.

My cat reminded me of Alaska, because everything does if it can, at the Yukon Bar up at the plank for another Wild Turkey. There on that dark oak was the smallest dog I’d ever seen, smaller than a dram of whiskey. There was music on loud from the stage, so I ambled to the owner and said,

“My, that’s the smallest dog I ever did see,” and he said, without turning to me,

“Damn right it is. This here teacup terrier is the second smallest dog in the world. If you’ve seen a smaller dog you’ve seen the smallest dog in the world, the first smallest being a teacup terrier in Stanfordshire, Great Britain.”

I thought about all the bar dogs I’d ever known and how many of them are a warm color just like whiskey, which is the color of good conversation as one once said, but usually a completely different shape. And then I thought how I wanted to drink that dog while I still had the chance. Thankfully the bartendress came over just then.

That cat was newborn, had no idea of home, and I only had a chance to think that before it was gone. So there I was in the middle of the afternoon street, catless, with the longest nails I’d had in 6 years and thirsty as ever, so I headed to a cafe and ordered a mint tea and a man next to me said “you are thinking too much, you mustn’t do that, for when you think you think about your past and about how sometimes you do somethings for something that doesn’t exist.” But that’s how I got where I am today. With a few exaggerations holding water and a short relationship with a stray cat, I thought about my life as always, though this time it seemed strangely detourless. I sip my tea.

April 28//A Virtual Museum

Curated by Me (from about town and private collections)

The grand socco (also souk d'barra, meaning "outside market" in Spanish) because at this time it was outside the walls of the city. The cinema is today where the camels are in the picture. You can see the old walls of the city in the background.

The best version of this game I've seen, Groucho meets an Elephant, now there's my spirit animal. 

Strange electricity panel in the suburbs 

Colonial art in the bathroom. Many pieces like this, black slaves holding lamps in carriage house style. The entire
house was a series of oohs and aahs, climbing the stairs and finding
an old roman chariot wheel, the second terasse that looks onto Yves
Saint-Laurent's garden and the third and final that looks over the
whole city. Delicious food, merriment, good company.
 

The King before he was King, seen in all the bakeries 

At the photoshoot, make my kids cute 

Fencing victorias 

April 27//Lute Session

At the lute session in the Casbah with a mini 8-string banjo

Yto and Lute player 

April 26, 2005//Public beach and the Plague of the 40s

Now this is no joke. I met a man who insisted the entire holocaust did not happen. The images are fabricated, the movies were all a show, the bodies, all dummies, a master plan from the genius propagandist Goebbels and a conspiracy to obtain Israel once and for all. And the buildings of the concentration camps that still exist, the ovens and graves, they were used to disintegrate bodies affected by a great little known plague at that time. Though I knew there were neighsayers and disbelievers, I had never heard an argument rationally developed like he did it. The conversation ended nowhere, as these always do, he saying that he likes talking to people with new views and arguments and he chooses the best information from all that he has heard, and that this person, thus far, had been a radical anti-semite about 17 years ago. He told me that my schools were lying to me, even when I said that all of the western world learns it because it is fact, and how could survivors lie so convincingly and what accounts for all the missing people, to which he answered that a compelling argument he heard said that the number of Jews in the world before and after the holocaust was actually exactly the same, they had just spread out. It's strange that the things we take for granted, and as absolute undeniable facts because we are taught them in school, can be so easily denied in ignorance. But this also speaks to the things that we don't learn as well.

Our conversation started with finding a clear portion of the beach and a small history lesson on American history. He really wanted to know about the Native Americans and slavery, and insisted that the pioneers were not Americans, even if they were first generation. He made me refer to them as the British, or the Europeans. He emphasized how young a country America is compared to Morocco, and what a bloody past we have. There was no denying it, but he was making this into an example for our recent policies. In fact these things are not the same. Tangier has had a strangely pacific life for all the things that have had their interests here. There is a distance between the governing entities (even within themselves-now:parliament, king division of power. When it was an international zone: Spanish policemen on the streets, French higher ups, makes you wonder how anyone communicated. More on this later, getting a book with all the details.) and the people.

City teeming with teams

The beach is used primarily as soccer fields by atleast 15 official teams with uniforms and a dozen informal leagues. The beach is an interesting place and I will be spending much more time on the many beaches in and around Tangier now that it is hot. The public beach in Tangier is dirty. It is right next to the port where all illegal cargo gets thrown overboard if discovered, then washes up on shore. On this day there was a large constitution of fresh oranges. Larbi's theory was that the young Moroccans, aspiring stowaways, brought sustenance to eat while they were waiting to get on a boat, usually under the belly of a truck. When they made it they threw their oranges away. There would have to be about 100 stowaways at this time to account for all the oranges. But this is entirely possible.

Barefoot peril 

Seashells  

For Bill Brandt 

RECIPE 2//April 25

Did you know food could be '80s? Aside from the elecrifying colors of this photograph, this dish from DARNA is finger-lickin' good. And requires a whole loaf of bread to finish off all the goodness. Takes about 1 hour to make including chopping and cooking. I'd love to hear how it turns out if you make it. For spices, if you're in New York, there's my favorite wholesale spice store on Bleeker Street, west off 6th ave past Murray's Cheese, called Aphrodisia. Your nose will sneeze a few thank yous and then twitch and wiggle with delight.

On another note, I electrocuted myself badly last night. I was just about to go to bed and was plugging in my reading light. It was like a donkey kicked me. Today I've been frazzled accordingly. Everyonce in awhile my computer gives off sparks. Anyone else been struck by lightning or less drastically been electrocuted? Should I expect any clairvoyancy or magneticism?

Whole chicken
3 tbs big grain salt
2-3 chopped red peppers
1 bunch finely chopped dill
1 small bunch coriander whole and tied together
1 clove shredded garlic (use cheese shredder)
¼ cup white vinegar
1 tbs ginger powder
1 tbs pepper
1 package saffron (synthetic for color, optional)
a few pinches natural saffron for enhanced taste (more if you don’t use the synthetic)
1 tbs salted butter
approximately 1- 1 ½ cups water (just a half inch on the bottom of your saucepan)
1 ¾ cups table oil
½ kilo purple olives

Make sure chicken is thoroughly defeathered... a real concern here anyway. Leave the skin on. Cover chicken with large grain salt and vinegar. Smear chicken with unsalted butter.

Put all ingredients except olives in large saucepan. Boil and stir often. Approximately 45 minutes. Add olives for last two minutes to heat them.
Serve.
(Also an option if you have a tagine): prepare earlier the day you will serve it. When preparing to serve, heat in tagine approximately 10 minutes in oven on 400 or on stove on largest flame.
 

I am sitting in the top lefthand corner of the left page. 

The Strait, straight up 

Do you bite your tongue at me? 

This is an ongoing investigation. Cabo Negro is to the east of the Spanish enclave in Morocco, the town of Ceuta. It is also at the near narrowest point of the strait, a mere 14 kilometers across from the British enclave in Spain, Gibraltar. The Spanish government has been pressuring the Brits to stop throwing their garbage in the water. All the trash washes up on shore and turns tourists away. Ironically, the town of Ceuta is doing the same thing on the Moroccan side. And the proof shows people on both sides eat a lot of yogurt. Seriously, though, this is what a group of fishermen pulled out of the ocean. It's a crying shame. There's the town of Cabo in the background. When it becomes warm enough to swim they will clean this up and act as though it never happened. It was nice to see these towns in spring.