#Coffee Articles

[soracities]

Nabil S., "It was all songs: a letter from Gaza" from Nuseirat Refugee Camp & Khan Younis, trans. by his cousin Sarah Aziza and pub. Mizna [ID'd]

[juergenklopp]

I always knew what I’d be. As a kid, I always knew. I never knew how I’d get there, but I always knew what I wanted. No ceilings. I don’t put a limit on myself. Nor should I.

JALEN HURTS for ESSENCE 2023 Men’s Issue

On Monday, April 17th, Jalen Hurts agreed to terms of a 5-year extension worth $255 million with the Philadelphia Eagles, making him the highest paid player in NFL history on a per year basis. The Houston native graces the cover of ESSENCE’s 2023 Men’s Issue.

Photographed by Myesha Evon Gardner Styling by Matthew Henson

[sugarsnappeases]

rita skeeter, at the end of the first war

[fatehbaz]

[T]he Dutch Republic, like its successor the Kingdom of the Netherlands, [...] throughout the early modern period had an advanced maritime [trading, exports] and (financial) service [banking, insurance] sector. Moreover, Dutch involvement in Atlantic slavery stretched over two and a half centuries. [...] Carefully estimating the scope of all the activities involved in moving, processing and retailing the goods derived from the forced labour performed by the enslaved in the Atlantic world [...] [shows] more clearly in what ways the gains from slavery percolated through the Dutch economy. [...] [This web] connected them [...] to the enslaved in Suriname and other Dutch colonies, as well as in non-Dutch colonies such as Saint Domingue [Haiti], which was one of the main suppliers of slave-produced goods to the Dutch economy until the enslaved revolted in 1791 and brought an end to the trade. [...] A significant part of the eighteenth-century Dutch elite was actively engaged in financing, insuring, organising and enabling the slave system, and drew much wealth from it. [...] [A] staggering 19% (expressed in value) of the Dutch Republic's trade in 1770 consisted of Atlantic slave-produced goods such as sugar, coffee, or indigo [...].

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One point that deserves considerable emphasis is that [this slave-based Dutch wealth] [...] did not just depend on the increasing output of the Dutch Atlantic slave colonies. By 1770, the Dutch imported over fl.8 million worth of sugar and coffee from French ports. [...] [T]hese [...] routes successfully linked the Dutch trade sector to the massive expansion of slavery in Saint Domingue [the French colony of Haiti], which continued until the early 1790s when the revolution of the enslaved on the French part of that island ended slavery.

Before that time, Dutch sugar mills processed tens of millions of pounds of sugar from the French Caribbean, which were then exported over the Rhine and through the Sound to the German and Eastern European ‘slavery hinterlands’.

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Coffee and indigo flowed through the Dutch Republic via the same trans-imperial routes, while the Dutch also imported tobacco produced by slaves in the British colonies, [and] gold and tobacco produced [by slaves] in Brazil [...]. The value of all the different components of slave-based trade combined amounted to a sum of fl.57.3 million, more than 23% of all the Dutch trade in 1770. [...] However, trade statistics alone cannot answer the question about the weight of this sector within the economy. [...] 1770 was a peak year for the issuing of new plantation loans [...] [T]he main processing industry that was fully based on slave-produced goods was the Holland-based sugar industry [...]. It has been estimated that in 1770 Amsterdam alone housed 110 refineries, out of a total of 150 refineries in the province of Holland. These processed approximately 50 million pounds of raw sugar per year, employing over 4,000 workers. [...] [I]n the four decades from 1738 to 1779, the slave-based contribution to GDP alone grew by fl.20.5 million, thus contributing almost 40% of all growth generated in the economy of Holland in this period. [...]

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These [slave-based Dutch commodity] chains ran from [the plantation itself, through maritime trade, through commodity processing sites like sugar refineries, through export of these goods] [...] and from there to European metropoles and hinterlands that in the eighteenth century became mass consumers of slave-produced goods such as sugar and coffee. These chains tied the Dutch economy to slave-based production in Suriname and other Dutch colonies, but also to the plantation complexes of other European powers, most crucially the French in Saint Domingue [Haiti], as the Dutch became major importers and processers of French coffee and sugar that they then redistributed to Northern and Central Europe. [...]

The explosive growth of production on slave plantations in the Dutch Guianas, combined with the international boom in coffee and sugar consumption, ensured that consistently high proportions (19% in 1770) of commodities entering and exiting Dutch harbors were produced on Atlantic slave plantations. [...] The Dutch economy profited from this Atlantic boom both as direct supplier of slave-produced goods [from slave plantations in the Dutch Guianas, from Dutch processing of sugar from slave plantations in French Haiti] and as intermediary [physically exporting sugar and coffee] between the Atlantic slave complexes of other European powers and the Northern and Central European hinterland.

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Text above by: Pepijn Brandon and Ulbe Bosma. "Slavery and the Dutch economy, 1750-1800". Slavery & Abolition Volume 42, Issue 1. 2021. [Text within brackets added by me for clarity. Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[larrylimericks]

22Apr23

Lofie’s done, says The Sun—void and null; Lasted one cup of coffee in full. Lou’s now through with the Dane (No one asked, but OK) And could use Harry’s help with a pull.

[gregoftom]

correction: tom needs greg “gregging” for him every night :(

[prfm-multiverse]

[the-music-maniac]

Anytime Vash or Nai do some shit:

I spent a good ten minutes cackling at the last sentence of this article paragraph cause my friend saw it and was like ‘vash is a quick shot confirmed, rip wolfwood’

[nat-love-4ever]

3.9.2024

Here I am at my towns library, reading journal articles for an essay, just minding my own business when a stupid kid jumps out of nowhere and scares the living shit out of me.

This is why people are full of shit.

[communistkenobi]

like supernatural says. brother it is 10am on a tuesday

[gurathins]

need to do lit review for my thesis (i have like. three weeks? maybe a bit less).

what i should be doing: reading the literature, writing about the literature

what i am doing: playing around keynote making the slides pretty instead of actually doing anything

[sigmaleph]

Another possible appearance of coffee was described in Homer's Odyssey. At one point in the Epic, Helena, daughter of Zeus, mixes a drink in a bowl "which had the power of robbing grief and anger of their sting and banishing all painful memories."[31]

what the fuck are you talking about

like yes that is, sort of, an actual passage from the odyssey...

Asphalion, one of King Menelaus' busy squires, poured water on their hands, and they fell to again on the good fare that was spread before them. Helen, meanwhile, the child of Zeus, had had a happy thought. Into the bowl in which their wine was mixed, she slipped a drug that had the power of robbing grief and anger of their sting and banishing all painful memories. No one that swallowed this dissolved in wine could shed a single tear that day, even for the death of his mother and father, or if they put his brother or his own son to the sword and he were there to see it done. This powerful anodyne was one of many useful drugs which had been given to the daughter of Zeus by an Egyptian lady, Polydamna, the wife ofThon. For the fertile soil of Egypt is most rich in herbs, many of which are whole- some in solution, though many are poisonous. And in medical knowledge the Egyptian leaves the rest of the world behind. He is a true son ofPaeeon the Healer.

but like in what universe is that remotely suggestive of coffee. there are other psychoactive plants y'know

[dylanlila]

btw i found scrapbooks of flowers in my basement in case that wasn't obvious

[muscari-melpomene]

From the Grounds Up

Anti knocked back the rapidly-cooling remainder of his hot chocolate, and sighed with contentment as the remaining warmth spread through his chest. He washed the cup with quick, deft movements, and set it aside to dry. By the door of his shop, a large grey-brown mutt stretched with a groan. Anti whistled at it.

"Mutt," he called quietly, and the dog's ear twitched dismissively. Anti grinned.

Step back from this scene. Step back from the man behind the counter, leaning against it with his shoulders relaxed and his back straight. He's been standing like that a few months now, more at ease than he's been in his entire short life. Step back and look around his warm little shop.

The walls are exposed brick. There are plain wooden shelves set into it between two windows, containing a few trinkets and random decorations that took Anti's fancy. There are a couple small corner tables, and there is the counter with a neat row of seats at it. The shop smells strongly of coffee and spices, in the refreshing, comforting way that most cafés do. It is dark outside, and the dog by the door – Mutt, as we've learned his name is – is napping, utterly content with his lot in life.

It is dark outside, and the sun hasn't been seen for hours now. The café has only just opened. The sign outside that declares Coffee Talk cheerfully to the street flickered on at precisely 10 pm.

Step back into the shop, and take a deep breath of the warm, spiced air. You, and anyone else craving a warm drink and pleasant company, are welcome here.

Anti glanced up as the bell over the door jingled, yanked abruptly out of his thoughts. Damien was already hanging his long coat on a hook by the door.

"Evening, Anti," he called over his shoulder. Mutt dragged himself to his feet and snuffled over to Damien hopefully.

"You've got my damn watchdog rolling over at your feet," was Anti's reply, and Damien only smiled, reaching down to give Mutt a scratch behind the ear.

"You hear how he talks to me?" he murmured to the dog, "I'm his best customer and he swears at me the second I'm in the door."

"Henrik's my best customer, I could set my watch by the guy if I wanted."

"Henrik orders the same three drinks in rotation," said Damien as he slid into his usual seat at the counter. "You hate that." Mutt wandered to his spot by the door, and collapsed again with a loud sigh.

"Point," Anti conceded, "but at least I always know when he's coming. He'll be here in twenty minutes. You, on the other hand-"

He reached across the counter and flicked Damien's forehead, earning an offended noise as Damien swatted his hand away.

"-You haven't been here in a week and a half, D., what gives?"

"I've been busy," said Damien, as usual.

"With what?" asked Anti, as usual. Damien gave him a pleading look, and Anti dropped it. He was barely upset anymore anyway; the familiarity of the interaction soothed his lingering disappointment at Damien's long absence. Anti took a mug from under the counter and filled it with hot water to warm it.

"What kind of night is it?"

"The usual," said Damien, propping his chin on his hand.

"With your fancy-ass lavender in it?"

"With my fancy-ass lavender, yes."

Anti bit back a grin. Damien swearing in his calm, articulate voice always made Anti want to laugh, but the man looked tired, so Anti would hold back from any more mockery for the time being. Including reproaching him for having something as boring as a usual. Anti was feeling forgiving today, apparently. Maybe he should fix that.

He emptied the mug he'd heated, put a sachet of earl grey in it, and refilled it two thirds of the way with water just cooled from boiling. He hummed to himself as he let it steep, doing a few last checks that all of his brewing equipment was clean and ready to go for the evening.

The tea finished steeping, and he tossed away the bag before adding a hint each of vanilla and lavender syrup, stirring them in thoroughly before steaming a cup of milk and topping off the mug.

"A London Fog with lavender for his majesty," he snipped as he set the mug in front of Damien. Damien rolled his eyes, and took a long sip.

"...How do you always make it better than I ever can at home?" he sighed, setting it back on the counter. "It never tastes right when I do it."

"If I told you I'd have to kill you," said Anti brightly, and said nothing about how he'd narrowed it down carefully through trial and error, and Damien liked the drink best when the tea had been steeped just over four minutes.

"Mutt," said Damien, glancing back at the dog, "he's threatening me again. Sic 'em."

Mutt lifted his large head to stare at them for a moment, unimpressed, then set about licking his paws.

"...Impressive watchdog you've got there."

"He just doesn't think you're worth showing off for," Anti shrugged, and Damien gave him about the same look they'd just gotten from Mutt.

The door burst open, and a man with long hair half tied back and a satchel overflowing with notebooks and papers rushed in. He shoved himself into a seat at the counter, only avoiding falling out of it because Damien grabbed the back of the chair as it tilted, and hoisted the satchel onto the counter, half-emptying it in front of him.

"Ginger latte," he said by way of greeting, and Anti rolled his eyes and went to pull an espresso shot for the drink.

"Breakthrough?" Anti heard Damien ask as the machine grumbled to life and spat fresh grounds into a waiting cup.

"Maybe," said Marvin, "don't talk to me."

Anti tried to focus on making the drink, and not the anxiety coiling in his stomach. This happened at least once a month. Marvin was always having a breakthrough, always just on the edge of figuring out how to track down- well.

Anti wasn't thinking about it. He had a drink to make.

A small amount of fresh ginger grated in on top of the espresso grounds. Tamp it down. Pull the shot. Steam the milk and pour, and a bit more ginger on the froth on top because Marvin liked his flavored lattes to kick him in the teeth a bit.

"Drink up," he said, brushing a few papers aside so he could put the drink on the counter. Marvin didn't say anything.

"Marv."

"What?!" he snapped, looking up, then: "Oh- yes, thank you."

"Your shirt's buttoned wrong," Anti told him. Marvin looked down.

"Ah."

"When was the last time you slept, Marvin?" asked Damien. Marvin got that impatient look about him that said they were in for an utterly incomprehensible lecture.

"There are more important things-"

"Than your own health?" said Damien mildly, but Marvin had already started.

"-than getting my bloody eight hours- I am so close, so close to finding it, him, the escaped experiment- I finally got into the ruins of IRIS-"

"You what?! " snapped Anti, reeling back.

"I snuck in!" said Marvin, a deranged light in his eyes, "it was so simple in the end, and right there in the center of it was the site of the incident- the human remains there are mostly decayed, which is a shame, I'm no forensics expert, so I can't figure much out from it, but the magical traces remaining down there are- the energy is different from anything I've ever seen, if I can find a match for it-"

"That's trespassing, Marvin," said Damien, and Marvin waved a dismissive hand.

"Neither of you is going to say anything- but listen, this energy-"

"Marvin, for fuck's sake," Anti interrupted, a little louder than he'd meant to, "drink your damn latte before I scald you with it."

Marvin, miraculously, fell silent, staring at Anti. Damien was also staring at Anti. That was not what Anti had been hoping for.

The bell over the door jingled again, and Anti looked to it like a drowning man to a plank floating by.

"Henrik!" he called with visible relief, and Henrik raised an eyebrow at him.

"...hello."

"Oh, good," said Damien, "someone with sense- Henrik, come talk to Marvin."

"What's he done this time?" asked Henrik, hanging his coat up and sitting on Marvin's other side.

"I haven't done anything."

"Dumbass snuck into the smoldering fucking wreck of IRIS on- I'm gonna guess two hours of sleep?"

"Three," Marvin shot back, glaring.

"Marvin," said Henrik calmly, and Marvin realized his mistake. Anti stepped into the back as Marvin started trying to defend himself, doubtlessly only digging himself in deeper.

The store room door shut behind Anti, and he sunk to the ground, pressing a hand to his chest – breathe, Anti, breathe, in and out, nice and slow, don't hyperventilate, throwing up in here would be a health and sanitation nightmare, just breathe – and curling up in a little ball. The earthy smell of stored spices and herbs surrounded him, grounding him just a bit more.

Marvin was always having a breakthrough on one magical matter or another related to the incident at IRIS that had taken place eighteen months ago. Most people would have given up by now, but Marvin wasn't the type. The more he was told to let something go, the deeper he sunk his teeth in it.

And now he'd gone and broken in to what remained of IRIS. He'd found traces of energy there that he could study, something tangible to follow the tracks of. Something, if Anti had to guess, sharp and electric. Something made of dark, distorting strands woven into the form of a human. A man who was more solid now, more steady, less inclined to cut into someone and drain them to stay alive.

Who just wanted to be left alone.

Anti made himself look up, look around the store room. He ought to do inventory while he was here.

"...need more mint," he mumbled to himself, voice dry from his ragged gasping earlier. "Jamie'll be devastated..."

"-Don't want your help-" came an irate voice from outside, and Anti dragged himself to his feet.

On the edge of destroying Anti's life or no, Marvin was a fucking mess right now, and it was Anti's shop he was making that mess in. He really shouldn't leave Henrik and Damien to corral the whole thing.

Marvin was carrying on at full strength still by the time Anti reached the counter. Henrik hadn't raised his voice yet, but was starting to look fully annoyed rather than just exasperated.

"Doc," Anti cut in, "let me get you a drink for dealing with his shit."

"That would be lovely, thank you," said Henrik, shoulders relaxing a hair. "Coffee with honey, please."

"Coming right up."

"Now, Marvin," said Henrik, turning back to the scowling magician, "listen carefully. You're only going to make a mess of your research if you do it in this state- I'm not finished."

Marvin, who had opened his mouth to start talking again, shut it, and glared instead.

“Thank you. You will finish your drink, and let me finish mine, and then I am going to walk you home, and you are going to go to sleep for several consecutive hours."

"And why would I do that?" said Marvin, arms crossed. Anti set a sweetened coffee in front of Henrik, who nodded politely in thanks.

“These are a lot of handwritten notes on paper, Marvin," Henrik said, running a finger around the rim of his mug. "It would be a shame if something were to happen to them. Something... caffeinated, for example."

Marvin went a bit pale. Henrik smiled faintly.

“Which of us do you think has faster reflexes just now?" he asked, tipping his mug just slightly. Damien managed to turn a laugh into a cough, glancing away. Marvin's eyes flicked from his notes to Henrik's mug and back. A long, tense moment passed.

"...Fine," Marvin huffed, starting to tidy his notes away, "I won't get anything done with you here anyway..."

Henrik lifted his coffee in a toast, and took a long sip.

Time passed quietly after that. Anti spent his time bothering Damien, with Henrik chiming in occasionally and Marvin halfheartedly sketching complex diagrams in one of his notebooks. After a while, Henrik paid for both his and Marvin's drinks, and firmly escorted the insomniac magician out, giving Mutt a pat on the head as he left. Damien took a long sip of his second London Fog of the evening.

"That was a shitshow."

Anti snorted, and Damien grinned tiredly.

"Yeah," said Anti, smiling, "yeah, kinda was."

"Are you alright?"

"What did I tell you about worrying about me?"

"That it was annoying but cute."

"I never said 'cute'."

"Ah, but you did," said Damien, looking far too pleased with himself, "you said it while Wilford was here, and he reminds me of it daily. You really ought to know better by now."

"I should," Anti conceded, "but it's funny when Wilford teases you."

"I never said 'teases'."

"This is Wilford we're talking about."

That got a laugh out of Damien, and something in Anti's chest warmed at the noise.

"You have a point," Damien said. His smile crinkled his eyes at the corners. He pushed his empty mug across the counter, and Anti took it.

"Another drink?"

"No," he said, sliding out of his seat, "no, I really ought to be getting to bed... thank you, though. Have a lovely evening, Anti."

"Have a good night, Dames," said Anti, watching him go. He took his coat from its usual hook, patted the dog, and was gone. Anti stood there a moment, watching the door. Mutt yawned, and Anti shook his head sharply.

"Time to close up, I think," he mumbled, and went to wash out the mug.

[thereisabearonmyceiling]

a comic about writing essays i made instead of writing an essay

[goldlightsaber]

i just want to say that like, all you can do is laugh sometimes, and the expectations people have of literally THE most random people or brands in the world to "make a statement" about the war is so, so funny