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user locations: nevereatshreddedwheat

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the singer’s house

from a brief history of seven killings posted in literature by nevereatshreddedwheat

The Singer house was the biggest house me ever see. Me run up and touch the wall just to say me touch it. So much first time in that trip that me can't even remember most of them. First time me ever go uptown. First time me on Hope Road. First me see so much woman in pretty clothes walking up and down the street. First time me see the Singer house. First time me see white woman looking like Rasta. First time me see how people who have things live.

– The gang member Demus in A Brief History of Seven Killings by Marlon James

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trench town culture yard

from bob marley posted in music by nevereatshreddedwheat

I remember when we used to sit
In the government yard in Trenchtown

No Woman No Cry, Bob Marley & the Wailers

Bob Marley moved to the government-owned Trench Town housing projects in the late 1950s and lived there through his teenage years.

Officially, a man named Vincent Ford, who ran a soup kitchen in Trench Town, wrote No Woman No Cry along with several other Bob Marley songs during this time. It is widely assumed though that Bob Marley did in fact write these songs but listed Ford as the songwriter in order to avoid a contract with Cayman Music and also so that the ongoing royalty checks could support Ford's soup kitchen.

Today Trench Town hosts a museum dedicated to those musicians and notable figures (Bob Marley, Peter Tosh, Bunny Wailer, etc.) who once lived in the neighborhood known as the Hollywood of Jamaica.

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rock city

from american gods, neil gaiman posted in literature by nevereatshreddedwheat

Rock City begins as an ornamental garden on a mountainside: its visitors walk a path that takes them through rocks, over rocks, between rocks. They throw corn into a deer enclosure, cross a hanging bridge and peer out through a quarter-a-throw binoculars at a view that promises them seven states on the rare sunny days when the air is perfectly clear. And from there, like a drop into some strange hell, the path takes the visitors, millions upon millions of them every year, down into caverns, where they stare at back-lit dolls arranged into nursery-rhyme and fairy-tale dioramas. When they leave, they leave bemused, uncertain of why they came, of what they have seen, of whether they had a good time or not.

American Gods, Neil Gaiman

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geographic center of the lower 48 states

from american gods, neil gaiman posted in literature by nevereatshreddedwheat

As near as anyone could figure it out, the exact center of the continental United States was several miles from Lebanon, Kansas, on Johnny Grib’s hog farm. By the 1930s the people of Lebanon were all ready to put a monument up in the middle of the hog farm, but Johnny Grib said that he didn’t want millions of tourists coming in and tramping all over and upsetting the hogs, so they put the monument to the geographical center of the United States two miles north of the town. They built a park, and a stone monument to go in the park, and a brass plaque on the monument. They blacktopped the road from the town, and, certain of the influx of tourists waiting to arrive, they even built a motel by the monument. Then they waited.

The tourists did not come. Nobody came.


American Gods, Neil Gaiman

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the house on the rock

from american gods, neil gaiman posted in literature by nevereatshreddedwheat

"So when we get to Madison, what then?"

"Take Highway 14 west to Spring Green. We'll be meeting everyone at a place called the House on the Rock. You been there?"

"No," said Shadow. "But I've seen the signs."


American Gods, Neil Gaiman

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