H A N G O V E R

j + me + tequila = disaster

currently listening to while eating apricots in bed

the cure - lullaby
ibrahim ferrer - oye el consejo
marsmobile - magnetising
portishead - pedestal
clara nunes - canto das tres racas
os mutantes - ave, lucifer
cigarettes after sex
serge gainsbourg - les amour perdues
erykah badu - did'nt cha know
funcadelic - maggot brain
adoniran barbosa - deus de abencoe
tricky - aftermath
celia cruz - yemaya
joe arroyo - echao pa lante
seaon, ekaterina - under the moon

tiffany, wine, tapas & cigarettes

tiffany, tapas, wine & cigarettes, need nothing else in this life 

moja tiffanka ♡

as proof of eternity.

(Golden as old harvest songs
dark from the sting of the night,
white from the water’s endless laughter,
as you approach the spring
your eyes are almonds,
your lips two wounds of honey,
your legs towers of marble,
your hands on my shoulders two birds.
You give me a spirit that flutters
around the place.)


Leave metaphor, and walk with me.
Do you see traces of the moth in the light?
I said: I see you there, I see you pass
like one of the thoughts of our ancestors.
He said: Thus the moth recalls its poetic labor:
a song that the astronomers recognize
as proof of eternity.

GYOZA

making dumplings japanese style tonight

ALEXIS ♥♥♥♥♥

my beautiful swedish, russian, french, swiss, colombian prince

naga morich

or naga jolokia is the world's hottest chili pepper so you can only imagine how excited i got when i actually found it today

radio ethiopia vinyl

patti smith♡

los jazmines tendrían mitad de noche oscura

found these on my sisters computer the other day. a nostalgia trip from a couple of years of night owling while eating candy in nightclubs, wearing baby blue dresses at afterparties & playing records at bars around stockholm

and yes a know i've had many hair colors and a fabless for black eyeliner haha..

FROM MARRAKESH

and i say to myself: a moon will rise from my darkness.
وأَقول لنفسِي: سَيطلعُ مِن عَتْمَتِي قَمَر.

luna llena

night scents are so powerful that they overcome everything less subtle, perilous and false than they are

— renée vivien

while listening to colombian cumbia

Who is your best friend and hows your relatinship with your family?

tiffany. very close 

Are you in love right now?

its a secret

What kind of guys do you find attractive?

hmm.. i really find it interesting when they are different from me, or even my complete opposite (structured, practical, even-tempered to name a few attributes that i’m unforunatly lacking) but apart from that I like them calm, safe, masculine, strong but soft, tender, kind, warm, generous, driven and a little crazy, just a little

I remeber you really liked Vicky Cristina Barcelona, who was your favourite carachter?

penelope no doubt, never liked scarlett

Are you sad?

haha noo.. a bit melancholic sometimes perhaps

what is real life magic?

relationships that feels safe, accepting, loving and sometimes raw, love of course, human connection, spiritual & physical intimacy, poetry, wild lavender & jasmine, sea & sun, warm honey skin scented with soft vanilla, tobacco, orange blossom & salt, taste of ripe mango, mountains, fruit trees, dark figs, late summer nights, white silk sheets, dancing, laughing, the sound of cicadas at night, courage 

- could go on forever obviously

Who were you as a teenager?

like a living contradiction in many ways, sensitive but fearless, warm hearted but cold, nonchalant but idealistic, soft but determent, complicated, drawn to risk ... very rebellious for sure

If you had another nationality based on your mentality, what would it be?

love this question haha. a mix of an enthusiastic, talkative and free spirited brazilian and a russian with a melancholic heart maybe?

What is your favourite language?

brazilian portuguese, rumanian, italian, russian, some arabic and spanish accents, farsi

Can you recommend a good bar?

yes, where? favorites of mine are located at hotel costes in paris and hotel de russie in milano 

pink floyd vinyl

my love and i are drinking wine while listening to pink floyd. on the record player of course, just the way we like it

a star-shower of blossom, of dew-like pearls, fruitfulness, beauty, life, rapture and fragrance

But I, while vineyards ring with the cicadas’ scream
Retrace your steps, alone, beneath the burning sun.
—  Virgil, Eclogue II 

answers to your questions

What is your dream job?
Something creative where I get to travel a lot and meet exciting people

What's your natural hair color and eye color?
My natural hair color is hazelnut brown and my eye color is green-blue

Do you want children in the future?
Yes but not before I'm thirty - so many things I want to explore before, both internally and externally

What's your favorite dish?
Pasta in any form but preferably with seafood or vongole. I probably eat pasta five days a week haha

Whyis your blogger name Miami incident?
Long story short - i was made in Miami rumour has it + one more thing but thats a secret

What is your best advice to learn a foreign language? 
I don't know, fall in love with a foreigner?

Now I'm off to a party. See you later!

honey youre so sweet

Memory of Forgetfulness

The last 24 hours has given me good energy to live on for weeks to come. 100 % insane.
Looking forward to a relaxing evening and night at home for a change

Will also share this piece by Mahmoud Darwish from his ‘Memory of Forgetfulness’

Gently place one spoonful of the ground coffee, electrified with the aroma of cardamom, on the rippling surface of the hot water, then stir slowly, first clockwise, then up and down. Add the second spoonful and stir up and down, then counterclock­wise. Now add the third. 

Between spoonfuls, take the pot away from the fire and bring it back. For the final touch, dip the spoon in the melting powder, fill and raise it a little over the pot, then let it drop back. Repeat this several times until the water boils again and a small mass of the blond coffee remains on the surface, rippling and ready to sink. Don’t let it sink.Turn off the heat, and pay no heed to the rockets. 

Take the coffee to the narrow corridor and pour it lovingly and with a sure hand into a little white cup: dark-colored cups spoil the freedom of the coffee. Observe the paths of the steam and the tent of rising aroma. Now light your first cigarette, made for this cup of cof­fee, the cigarette with the flavor of existence itself, unequaled by the taste of any other except that which follows love, as the woman smokes away the last sweat and the fading voice. 

Now I am born. My veins are saturated with their stimulant drugs, in contact with the springs of their life, caffeine and nico­tine, and the ritual of their coming together as created by my hand. “How can a hand write,” I ask myself, “if it doesn’t know how to be creative in making coffee!” How often have the heart specialists said, while smoking, “Don’t smoke or drink coffee!” And how I’ve joked with them, “A donkey doesn’t smoke or drink coffee. And it doesn’t write.

"I know my coffee, my mother’s coffee, and the coffee of my friends. I can tell them from afar and I know the differences among them. No coffee is like another, and my defense of coffee is a plea for difference itself. There’s no flavor we might label "the flavor of coffee” because coffee is not a concept, or even a single substance. And it’s not an absolute. 

Everyone’s coffee is special, so special that I can tell one’s taste and elegance of spirit by the flavor of the coffee.Coffee with the flavor of coriander means the woman’s kitchen is not organized. Coffee with the flavor of carob juice means the host is stingy. Coffee with the aroma of perfume means the lady is too concerned with appearances. Coffee that feels like moss in the mouth means its maker is an infantile leftist. Coffee that tastes stale from too much turning over in the hot water means its maker is an extreme rightist. And coffee with the overwhelming flavor of cardamom means the lady is newly rich.No coffee is like another. Every house has its coffee, and every hand too, because no soul is like another. I can tell coffee from far away: it moves in a straight line at first, then zigzags, winds, bends, sighs, and turns on flat, rocky surfaces and slopes; it wraps itself around an oak, then loosens and drops into a wadi, looks back, and melts with longing to go up the mountain. It does go up the mountain as it disperses in the gossamer of a shepherd’s pipe taking it back to its first home.

The aroma of coffee is a return to and a bringing back of first things because it is the offspring of the primordial. It’s a journey, begun thousands of years ago, that still goes on. Coffee is a place. Coffee is pores that let the inside seep through to the outside. A separation that unites what can’t be united except through its aroma. Coffee is not for weaning. On the contrary, coffee is a breast that nourishes men deeply. A morning born of a bitter taste. The milk of manhood. Coffee is geography.

he was in her thoughts. a deep tender sultry garden

the cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea
—  isak dinesen

Hôtel Costes

dinner and drinks at hôtel costes. they make the best bloody mary's

paris pastels