One thing never seems to fucking change, I’m still trying to do too many things at the same time, failing to bring any to a satisfactory conclusion. Ironically, this post is pretty representative about my life, by being exactly that. But I wouldn’t leave you with only excuses. Still your humble servant.

PS Belgium next week

What was actually going on, is that  I was loathe to admit that the only time I feel in love last year was with a woman that I’ve never met with person, that I only know from listening obsessively to the same couple of music records I found on some dusty corner of my hard drive. Yes, dear readers, I’ve fell victim to the common teenage crush, and I wish I was kidding.

Her name is Yasmin Levy. Ethnically, she’s Ladino, Jewish of Spanish roots. Her music is both this heritage (of which her father is an eminent scholar and performer), as well as Flamenco and Middle Eastern influence. The music can be haunting, exhilarating, bone-chilling or passionate, and often all of these at the same time. But you can figure this this out for yourself.

From the mouth of this wonderful creature:

I am proud to combine the two cultures of Ladino and flamenco, while mixing in Middle Eastern influences. I am embarking on a 500 years old musical journey, taking Ladino to Andalusia and mixing it with flamenco, the style that still bears the musical memories of the old Moorish and Jewish-Spanish world with the sound of the Arab world. In a way it is a ‘musical reconciliation’ of history.

PS Does any one know a Ladino restaurant in Scotland, or another place they congregate?

When I get out of my house in the morning, I can see Arthur’s Seat (dormant volcano) in nice lighting. Then it’s a short way North to North Bridge, which never fails to slow my cadence. I still think it’s an amazing sight, and as soon as my camera arrives here I’ll show you why. Suffice to say that you can see about half the landmarks, including my personal favorite Edinburgh’s Shame (aka Scotland’s Disgrace, or the National Monument of Scotland), for which I share an affection normally reserved for my late brain-damaged cat.

Today marked my fifth week living here. I’m not sure why, but I still don’t have any well developed opinion on this city, or on how I feel living here. Basically, I need to relearn 9 to 5, learn a new field, make a new circle of peeps, and, something which I underestimated initially, get used to new cultural sensibilities. I think a mistake I made was thinking it would be quite similar to when I moved to Berlin. While it’s not harder, it’s different, and when I moved to Berlin I didn’t realize it was permanent, so in a way I took it less seriously. Next time I move somewhere new I will probably make an effort to arrive with some obligation free weeks, just to explore and get a grip.Right now, it’s pretty hard to tell you where I stand and how I see it, as I still figure out stuff every day about this city and myself,

The advantage of the whole darkness though, is that I have discovered the Scottish alternative to Berlin’s freeshops. It’s called a charity shop, and I can find tons of great books for about 3 pounds each. I’ve been a’hoardin, but I can already tell you right now that William Dalrymple seems to only write great books, and if you’ve had any passing interest in traveling or history, you owe it to yourself to give it a try. From the “Holy Mountain”, about Christians in Turkey/Levant. Incidentally, he’s Scottish.

Nothing on it’s exterior betrays it’s content, writer or recipient, but it’s form and color tells me it’s one I wrote. This also means that it’s written to a woman, as I can’t remember the last time I wrote a hand-written letter to a man. From which you can probably deduce a lot about the letter’s content and intent. But I digress. One of the fundamental properties of unopened letters is that they, such as everything else, follow the second law of thermodynamics, and tend not to stay unopened for long. I rip open the letter, eager to place it in space and time.

One glance at the heading is enough to bring back the context of this letter.  I deliberately choose to use the word “context” here, to underline the importance of the frame of mind of the writer at that time, as well as all other aspects that are not covered by the strict contents of this missive. I know this letter quite well, as the particular one I’m holding is the result of a couple of drafts, as well as a lot of careful penning on the subway, trying to space short, well timed burst of writing between the violent jostling of the old fashioned carriages. It takes only a couple of second before I’m dipped into a nostalgic reverie.

To make things more concrete, let’s say this letter is written at a time T1 (Time one). It’s written from a person A (being, obviously, me), to a person B (being whose identity is ironically only obvious to B). Let’s also start to make an early distinction between people at different times. This makes this a letter written by A1 (me, at time one) to B. Note that the lack of time for B, as the person it’s written to is a hypothetical person, a person whose characteristics I have extrapolated from earlier events, as well as a healthy dose of wishful thinking on my part. Or A’s part, as you prefer.

Moving on. With the semantics hopefully cleared up, it’s relatively easy to explain to you the contents of this letter. One of the most important elements is an ephemeral reference to another time T0, when A0 and B0 shared a couple of hours of conversation, as well as a couple of beers and illicit cigarettes. But the term “a couple of hours of conversation” is woefully inadequate to describe what in actuality transpired in those hours, and a good approximation would be that in those short hours A0 and B0 had a shared understanding, a fundamental sameness that render any imperfection in communication innocuous and imperceptible. An optimist might say that that moment was special enough to remove any reference to time, and just demarcate the event as A + B, an ideal and perfect meeting of two souls, released from the shackles of being within the context of a particular space and time. A pessimist  would find it hard to be a pessimist at all, given the circumstances.

So, now we know that the letter, written by A1 to a (hopefully receptive) B1 refers to this event T0. This letter is also constructed on the presupposition that both A and B have an innate ability to have a similar event in the future, as well as B1 being receptive to the idea of giving it a whirl.

What happened to the letter after it was sealed, I can only guess. I can safely assume the letter was finished at some ungodly hour at which no postage can be procured, and given the fact that A has a tendency to procrastinate, there’s no reason to assume A1+a bit wouldn’t. And perhaps this A a bit later that T1 (let’s call him A2, for clarity) didn’t start to doubt A1′s assessment of the B1 receiving the letter (very distinct from the B1 mentioned before, which is the person A1 imagines the letter will be read by). A2 is not sure A1 knows who B1 really is, as he’s not sure himself, and as he’s A1 senior, he’s supposed to know better. A2 decides to play it safe and doesn’t post the letter.

Now, what I really find mind-boggling, is that fact that I managed to find this letter in exactly the right moment to permanently fuse and confuse the event A + B with my move to Scotland, even though they’re not even tangentially related. And, somewhere in the future, say T4, A4 will think back on A3 finding a letter written by A1 to a hypothetical B1 about an earlier event of A + B, and all of this stuff will come back to him a matter of seconds, perhaps as he’s carefully looking for his unabridged Nabokov, somewhere between the collected works of Salvador Dali and a thumbed copy of a Kundera.

NB. A and B did, in fact meet again, and the entire event of A + B was never mentioned or referred to. The whole affair even  had a slightly awkward and embarrassing overtone. Both Ax and Bx seemed to have an unspoken agreement that something as time,- and placeless as A + B can only happen in a very particular time and place, which are only known a posteriori. So just make sure you enjoy it when it comes along, as it seems these A + B events are extremely rare (on the order of a couple per lifetime), and it would be a shame to either force or deny them.

I was born by the river in a little tent
Oh and just like the river I been a runnin’ ever since
It’s been a long, a long time coming but I know
A change gon’ come oh yes it will
It’s been too hard living but I’m afraid to die
Cuz I don’t know what’s up there beyond the sky
It’s been a long, a long time coming but I know
A change gon’ come oh yes it will

I go to the movie, and I go downtown
Somebody keep tellin me “don’t hang around”
It’s been a long, a long time coming, but i know
A change gon’ come oh yes it will

Then I go to my brother
And I say “brother, help me please”
But he winds up knocking me
Back down on my knees
There been times that I thought I wouldn’t last for long
Now think I’m able to carry on
It’s been a long, along time coming but I know
A change gon’ come, oh yes it will

1. because of Depp’s excellent performance portraying Thompson in Fear and Loathing (and, while you may think it’s a comical portrayal, it turns out that Thompson is actually *exactly like that* in real life).
2. The Rum Diary contains one perfect passage that I would quote verbatim if I hadn’t given away my copy the last time I quoted it. If I recall correctly:
   “I’ve been a rebel all my life” he said, “drinking, running away, following my instinct. But I can’t help but wonder. When is my reward coming?”
   “You fool” I replied “there is no reward and there never was one.” We ended that night early, and I went home drunk and depressed.

Don’t watch the trailer. Or at least I hope the movie doesn’t end up like it.