Djarum Blacks :: Facts

The Djarum Black is a filtered clove cigarette, made by the Djarum Tobacco company of Indonesia. Blacks are wrapped in black paper, with a thin golden stripe at the join of the filter to the tobacco. Like most clove cigarettes, the paper is lightly coated with sugar, leaving a sweetness that lingers on one's lips.

The Djarum Black has a greater proportion of tobacco to clove than most clove cigarettes, and thus has a more balanced flavor -- not quite as sweet as the Djarum Special, and burns more evenly than the Sampoerna X-tra.

Its slender, elegant and black-wrapped appearance have made the Djarum Black a favorite of the American goth community -- practically a signature smoke, and certainly a beloved fashion accessory. It is rare to see an American goth smoking any other clove cigarette.

The Djarum Black is available in two styles: the Djarum Black 20, which is fatter and comes in a normal American-style cigarette box (twenty cigarettes in rows of five by four), and the Djarum Black 20 International, which are the thinner, longer cigarettes favored by American goths, and are packed in a flattened box that contains ten cigarettes to a row in two rows side by side. In the author's opinion, the Djarum Black 20 International is the superior of the two, both for its appearance and having better flavor; the mix of tobacco and clove somehow changes with the increased diameter of the cigarette in the non-International version.

and the author's own experience; Djarum Blacks are my favorite!

Djarum Blacks :: Anecdotes

It was a warm evening in late May, and the sun was just going down. Kiale wore her blood-red velvet halter top and black satin slacks, showing off the perfect curve of her hips and the flat golden trimness of her belly; dusky-dark tresses falling to her small breasts, her eyes inscrutable behind dark sunglasses. I walked with her through the well-manicured campus to the cigarette stand, sharp in my black suit and equally dark sunglasses.

"Two packs of Djarum Blacks, please," I say to the girl behind the counter, who was cute, Asian, and reading Camus.

"That'll be ten-fifty."

I hand over the money, take our cigarettes and link arms with Kiale, heading for the doors, before stopping suddenly and turn around. "Oh -- I'd like to buy a lighter, as well."

The girl behind the counter doesn't move, doesn't blink, just shifts to a perfectly deadpan expression:

"I'm sorry, sir, we don't have them in black."

"Here," Eric said, "try this: " and he blew a puff of smoke from his long black cigarette into his glass of red wine, then inhaled as he sipped.

I followed his example with my own cigarette and glass; the sweet-bitter-sharp wine/clove/tobacco taste pulled my tongue in three directions. I grinned and went to look for someone to kiss.

Djarum Blacks :: Lyrics

Little wolfskin boots
And clove cigarettes
An erotic funeral
For which she's dressed

-- Type O Negative, Black No. 1

It was October. Cold. I was seventeen, and my heart was on fire.

The first day I ever skipped school. Well, to be truthful, I didn't skip school. I lied my way out midway through it. Being a senior, attending school seemed unimportant in comparison to doing things like determining what university I wanted to attend, and hanging out with my friends who go to college.

I was sick, and my friend suggested we get some coffee. Nothing like convenience store coffee. If you burn your tongue on the first drink, it doesn't taste bad, just warm.

We had time to kill, and she needed to go pick up a pack of her "bitch cigarettes", so we walked to a gas station, and didn't need to provide proof that we'd circled the sun more than eighteen times. She quickly lit up, but I passed, and kept changing sides as we walked, because I couldn't stand to have the smell of smoke on me back then.

We talked about boys, mostly. Then we ran into one that she might have been dating, or maybe that was later, or earlier, and I don't really remember.

A smoke was suggested. And he pulled out a pack of these beauties, and of course I was intrigued. They were well into their smokes before I got up the courage to mumble the "Hey man, can I bum a smoke?" line that I became quite adept at delivering.

I fumbled a bit taking it from him, and pushed it a bit too far into my mouth. It was sweet, not what I expected from a cigarette. I couldn't get the lighter to work, so he "monkeyfucked" my cancer stick while I looked at my feet. And smoke filled my lungs.

I coughed. I coughed like a little bitch. It was my first time. But it tasted... nice, in a certain way. And then I felt that glorious nicotine buzz.

And I loved it. I didn't have proper smoking ettiquette, they laughed at how funny it was to see a new smoker. They had to go to classes before I was done, so I was left wandering around campus , puffing on a black cigarette, wearing that ridiculous overcoat I have such a fondness for.

I started munching on a piece of gum, and licking my lips. They were sweet. Delectable.

I wondered how anything that seemed so wonderful could be so bad for me.

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