17.6.08
Cafe del Duende
I suppose I should get myself back to doing this pointless exercise in persistence...
Cafe del Duende. Some Street 62, Valencia. One of those places I've always read about, but have never been to one. One of the kind of cafes that attract poets, writers, all kinds of artists, the kind all those famous poets of the 19th and the early 20th century used to hang in. The gathering places of the artsy hippy crowd, where you can practically smell the pot even though nobody is smoking it. Where you feel creative (but only feel, mind) just by being there.
Well, an hour and a half spent there watching Flamenco one night didn't make me feel creative. It only reminded me why I dread going out. Why I avoid real parties. Why I try to stay away from people in general.
I suppose it's good to be reminded of certain things from time to time.
Cafe del Duende. Some Street 62, Valencia. One of those places I've always read about, but have never been to one. One of the kind of cafes that attract poets, writers, all kinds of artists, the kind all those famous poets of the 19th and the early 20th century used to hang in. The gathering places of the artsy hippy crowd, where you can practically smell the pot even though nobody is smoking it. Where you feel creative (but only feel, mind) just by being there.
Well, an hour and a half spent there watching Flamenco one night didn't make me feel creative. It only reminded me why I dread going out. Why I avoid real parties. Why I try to stay away from people in general.
I suppose it's good to be reminded of certain things from time to time.
