Down by the poolside

Christmass is a party time, so there is a little collection of my favourites remixes from this year.
I Hope you enjoy.
And in the name of Motel de Moka members we wish you a happy holidays.

Check my top albums here & my mixed albums here 

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Category: Beats, Bedroom playlist, Electronic, Electronica, Motel de Moka

No One Is (As I Are Be)

Photo: Lars Tunbjörk

The winter is just around the corner, and the last entry which I had around here, was totally dedicated to summer.
Never too late for a welcome to an omnipresent autumn.
Regarding the playlist … I wasn’t very sure about including that Deerhunter song, although it is one of my favorites  from the group. I got stuck in the idea that it disrupts the overall mood of the other songs … in the end, though, I wanted it to reach out and I dared to include it. Hope it doesn’t affect your enjoyment and you enjoy the rest of the selections.


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Category: Beats, Hip hop, Motel de Moka, Pop, Rock


Goodbye summer!
We are not dead…maybe some members of the staff were kidnapped by aliens, but they are not dead.
Just having some kind of technical difficulties with life.


Ilustration: Gerhard Richter

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Category: Beats, Rock

Midnight Tempo IV

Photo: Charles Bergquist

In summer we go to lie together beside the wather all of the things of the city mean half as much when we finally take them inside
The slow water lapping the sun on our skin and the shadows we cast echo fr ages dogs also happy lying like this huddled together
on the beach in and out of sleep with ancientness hovering over like a protecting hand. [1]

When we are sleeping, aeroplanes carry memories of the horrors we have given
our silent consent to into the night sky of our cities and leave them there to gather
like clouds and condense into our dreams before morning. [2]

There is no changing of the seasons, in the electric city and no real darkness.
The street is iluminated all night with orange light and the concrete is like a carpet.
We have dreamed the street as a room and it has become true
There is no indoors or outdoors anymore. [3]

Let’s get drop out the funky beats of the last playlist.  Keep on the way to bed time, without losing pace.

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Category: Beats, Bedroom playlist, Electronic, Pop


Image:  Nonclickable

Darling, you think it’s love, it’s just a midnight journey.
Best are the dales and rivers removed by force,
as from the next compartment throttles “Oh, stop it, Bernie,”
yet the rhythm of those paroxysms is exactly yours.
Hook to the meat! Brush to the red-brick dentures,
alias cigars, smokeless like a driven nail!
Here the works are fewer than monkey wrenches,
and the phones are whining, dwarfed by to-no-avail.
Bark, then, with joy at Clancy, Fitzgibbon, Miller.
Dogs and block letters care how misfortune spells.
Still, you can tell yourself in the john by the spat-at mirror,
slamming the flush and emerging with clean lapels.
Only the liquid furniture cradles the dwindling figure.
Man shouldn’t grow in size once he’s been portrayed.
Look: what’s been left behind is about as meager
as what remains ahead. Hence the horizon’s blade.
Josep Brodsky, Seaward.

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Category: Beats, Experimental

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down. [1]

Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end! `I wonder how many miles I've fallen by this time?' she said aloud. `I must be getting somewhere near the centre of the earth. Let me see: that would be four thousand miles down, I think--' (for, you see, Alice had learnt several things of this sort in her lessons in the schoolroom, and though this was not a very good opportunity for showing off her knowledge, as there was no one to listen to her, still it was good practice to say it over) `--yes, that's about the right distance--but then I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I've got to?' (Alice had no idea what Latitude was, or Longitude either, but thought they were nice grand words to say.) [2]

O long-silent Sybil,
you of the winged dreams,
Speak out from your temple of light
as the serious constellations
with Greek names
still stare down on us
as a lighthouse moves its megaphone
over the sea
Speak out and shine upon us
the sea-light of Greece
the diamond light of Greece

Far-seeing Sybil, forever hidden,
Come out of your cave at last
And speak to us in the poet's voice
the voice of the fourth person singular
the voice of the inscrutable future
the voice of the people mixed
with a wild soft laughter--
And give us new dreams to dream,
Give us new myths to live by! [3]

So our princes who have lost their principalities after many years’ of possession shouldn’t blame their loss on fortuna. The real culprit is their own indolence, going through quiet times with no thought of the possibility of change (it’s a common human fault, failing to prepare for tempests unless one is actually in one!). And when eventually bad times did come, they thought of •flight rather than •self-defence, hoping that the people, upset by conquerors’ insolence, would recall them. This course of action may be all right when there’s no alternative, but it is not all right to neglect alternatives and choose this one; it amounts to voluntarily falling because you think that in due course someone will pick you up. If you do get rescued (and you probably won’t), that won’t make you secure; the only rescue that is really helpful to you is the one performed by you, the one that depends on yourself and your virtù. [4]