The brixtonsun

An extract from Passion is a fashion, the real story of The Clash by Pat Gilbert, 

         PART ONE 

   Occasionally, he managed to escape his father's shackles and hang out with his schoolfriends. They'd wander about Tavistock Road and Westbourne Grove, checking out blue parties where reggae music and marijuana mingled pungentley. Paul became part of the local weave, intoxicated by its energy and excitement: the late-nights crowds on the pavement, the gangs clustered around their beat-up motors, the tall, elegant houses and weeds taking root in their sooty, peeling facades, the sound of reggae and dub blaring out of their open windows."I'd walk past all these houses with West Indian music playing late at night, and get pulled into parties when I should have been going home. Most of the kids I hung out with were black - I got to the point where I only spoke patois with my mates."

     

(Patois) 
http://www.speakjamaican.com/jamaican-slang-glossary.html

Myglare, Myglandet. Mygel.

Myglet är måhända inte språkvårdens mest angelägna fråga, men det är desto mer spännande att följa ordet tillbaka i tiden. Roten till mygel och mögel kan nämligen spåras tillbaka till latinet och den klassiska grekiskan, där det betyder "slem, dynga, snor".
Hur har då detta ord, som betecknar allehanda obehagligheter av fuktig karaktär, kommit att betyda fiffel och moraliskt förkastlig verksamhet? Förutom i vår betydelse finns en motsvarighet till mygla också i tyskan i orden mogeln (som betyder 'fuska') och schmuggeln, som givetvis är detsamma som vårt smuggla.

Det är samma process som när vi talar om en människas svinaktiga beteende och egentligen inte alls menar sådant som en gris håller på med. Också här har vi tagit fasta på och renodlat en negativ komponent i ordets ursprungliga betydelse.

( Detta var inte bloggaren själv som skrev utan 
 http://web.telia.com/~u31252427/mygla.htm i brist på en bra definition hittade jag denna)

I went to the american embassy in stockholm today.

Grouchy miserable uncontent, was I in the waiting room, enduring a lady spatting dictaturous comments,
 a widescreen showing the same-lame clips of people of mixed races saying
 American, Im american, proud american america.. 
the security guard was standing so very widespreaded with his boots it was like he was taunting me to kick him not so gently in the groin.
The enterence door was to be held open, the icy coldness that crept inside the waiting room was like powdery bittersweet american frosting that clung to your ankles and cheeks! I tried to sleep, to allow my dreams to take me else where, mumin dalen for e.g, (the mumintrolls sleep during the frosty winter)..

When i left I was souring high among clouds! Free I felt.. blessed be thou Mrs Spat, prussimoluska, haggard wank.. you made my 5 hours visit behind bars so terrible that when I could leave, (i was really happy to leave), !Mumin! himself lent me a cloud that i could fly on to the buss station..

     Alas i was granted a visa to take part in some filming in the whereabouts of the USa!