Papa Noel

This Is what I want for christmas, Damn I love that Jacket

Kalinka

Moskau! raz dva tri!

Russian Dance is a very living portrait of my life. things come and go and inbetween the traffic of them nothing seems to be comfortable. a Month ago I was about to be a Rich man, Had a house and the chance of Eating Well being slave of the luxury of TV and the sacrifice of waking up Early and playing the father and mother of two innocent Children born between Guilt.

Now I had My love back, Lost the Promising future, and earned the delicious fantasy of living again for free. Became The friend of the unfriendy and As the past Came, Love came back, like a Rotten Apple - just good if I Can turn it into Cidre-

Christmas comes and last year I had a depressing holiday. Mart Came From Austria and I remember We Ate meat and cried over Angelicas Corpse as Laure Was a Dream and Era a Fetish.... I remember the Family being far far Away and Me so lonely and so Lost among the other that I decided... Rather go to Holland and Then back to Russia - what do you think Dutchies- or Go to Tirana to pay a drink to the albanian and dress in red opening Wide eyes to a language I cant Understand....

I hate the russian Dance. I do not feel satisfied. I feel hungry. I feel mad. I feel Exhaust

I feel it's all so so so fake in the end

JuiceBags And Pigs

Manifest About the Sound surround People

I must Say it, I don't like most of the people I meet. I hate the open list and I keep in it, Its cause It's a fucking carnivale where all sing and dance at the same songs ina different dischorded way

I don' t like most of the people around. they Finish up using or expecting abuses. In the end they are filthy creatrues and when they are not, they turn so beautiful that obession comes and need with it. They leave, flooding through my handprints....

I dont like brilliant people. I would like to be like them and leave arrogance behind

I dont like people I love. They make me Weak like you do

I dont like big mouthed people. they see themselves as brave cause they see in stupidity brilliant thoughts

I dont like the frenchies, I like Czechoslovakians, i Like Russians
I like Mad PEople
I hate vane people


I like silent people
I like the ones that oppose me and dare me
I like the one that walk with me

I hate the Fake heroes

??????! ???, ???, ???!

??? ????? ? ????? ????????
?????? ? ????. ??????!

Women and Prositutez, Vomit and Martinis

Moskau???, ???, ???!Moskau????????!??????? ??? ????,????? ?????? ????

Christmas comes, One two three!!!!!!! The snow Came Ein zwei drei!!!!! Papa christmas is putting his boxers on un dos tres!!!!! el nino Dios nace de nuevo, un deux trois

theres a new ride comming unu doua trei!!!!!!

will we dance all ina circle around the table, around the fire, smiling smorfias celebrating the death and sacrifice or the shopping lists????

I will miss my family and land again
and my friend

Where will I be, Where Will I stary
Moscow, Paris, Tirana, Prague?

One two Three
It is time to make a decision.
kisses and bang

Himmel Architektur

L' architecture du ciel

Ma chere, je commets aujourd' hui le crime le plus profond duquel on puisse juger un homme un un homme, dire la verité. La verite a toujours ete vendue au monde comme la pire des mensonges pour eviter le chaos ou peut etre la construction du néant.
J' ai connu des hommes qui faisaient des merveilles avec la pire des merdes de rat en sachant que contrairement a ca il y aurait un autre tas- bien plus grand- qui faisait des merveilles un enorme tas de merde humaine... et c' est la ou je tremble.

J ai jamais dit etre Dieu, ou le possesseur de ta foi, pourtant personne a jamais arrive a prouver le contraire ou a provuer que je me prends pour tel. Qu' est ce qu' on sait de Dieu??? RIEN. je peut te dire une chose de ton " pretendu dieu" - avec d minuscule- Il a un Coeur de Papier, qui brule pour toi, pas dans les feux de l' enfer et de cette passion asexuee construite sur les pilotis franco francais ( et par defaut fous) de l orgasme. Tu vois le feu envahir le papier et le peindre en noir comme la chanson? vois tu mon ame se secher comme le feuillage de ces plantes d' autonne que tu m' apprends a dessiner? vois tu mon visage vieillir et foncer quand je t' ecoute parler insenséement avec cette passion innee que t as choisi de te creer? VOIR TU mon regard Gitan devenir normal quand je te regarde en ne plus jamais croisant mes yeux??????

je ne crois pas, c est vrai, je suis aveugle, je suis fou et peut etre je ne suis pas dieu, de ne pas l etre, je ne serais pas humain car j' en ai jamais trouve mon ressemblable dans cette soupe de tripes ou je t ' ai rencontree; ange tombe des ciels, avec ta tenue de campagne, tes bottes sales ton visage carré et ta peau blanche et douce qui n' allait pas dutout avec cet accent de kalashnikov que tu recraches entre ces dents qui osent me dire des beaux mots et des mots assassins dans leur propre delice.

c est ici ou je te confesse que cette vie avec toi est une roulette russe, a nouveau, ou peut etre Albanaise -en cursive pour remarquer la finesse- ou j ai seulement une chance de sortir vivant et non pas cinq, car ce jeu est destiné a mon echec et a ta delicieuse victoire, car toujours on a ete alliés et ennemis jures dans notre cause et propre guerre.

je t ai vue, je me suis jure te conquerir, je t ai deconstruite, dans une retraite annoncee et glorieuse, je t ai violee et j ai vendue ton ame au diable, parce que je ne suis pas dieu, ni homme mais diable. je t ai apprivoisee et je t ai defiée pour que finalement, juste au debut de la fin eternelle qui s' approche, tu comprennes que t' as un grand talent... celui de deconstruire le plus beau de mes bordels ou t ' es la grande celestine - e Yll- pour faire de lui un autel dans lequel je suis sense etre egorge et vendu comme un 45 kilos de Viande halal en devenant donc, du gazoil humain sacré.

j ai Peur de perdre la peur, le delire, l absurde, la follie, l impatience, l inquietude l' amok et ton odeur aphrodisiaque que le vent emporte - car le vent l' emporte tout-

Sans Toi, La vie Aurait un sens

Snow flakes

Winter come, Moscow Comes

Soundtrack: Rammstein- Apocalyptica- Their Majesties of The Amok

Vine vi y venci, Dijo el emperador Julio Cesar en su mas compleja conquista. Despues de un tiempo el Angel Resucita, desempolva sus alas empapadas de alquitran y mira el sol mientras el seco y gelido Viento del Infierno - invierno- le calaba el alma y le partia los huesos como pan frances Viejo.

El 17 me llamo, despues de dejar un retrato en un post it rosa pidiendole que volviera como a usted leeloo. Regreso dandome un beso y reganandome por la desaparicion de un par de cucos de su ajuar. sonrei. Sonrei por el dulce sabor de la victoria y el amargo color de la eterna insatisfaccion. Ohne Dich. sin ti

Sin ti la vida Tiene sentido, le dije ese dia, haciendole entender que hacia especial mi vida, que iria a venezia en 3 dias echando dedo a traves de los alpes por verle la cara a ella y hacerle la visita al colombiano y al austriaco. que me iria a Rusia dentro de poco porque no tenia sentido en ir; con felipe visitar al ruso del Kalashnikov de praga. Que iria a Bogota en febrero porque era el tiempo suficiente para no ser demasiado y quedarse siendo poco

si senores, voy en febrero
Porque no tiene sentido
porque sin ella, la vida tiene sentido
y la nieve cae sobre mi cabeza y se derrite en mi alma

Ohne Dich

Today I just Want to yell that I cant live without you

I remembered the Skies in Brussels, that cold morning where I came to belgium to see you again there, in the place you would never be. Lit a fag and Read a flemish newspaper in an Art deco cafe, dreaming of the future of our past wondering if all the memories already lived would live again

. I have to say, I can't live withoutyou

I have committed many crimes, confessed them all like heroic acts under the effect of heroin fantasies. heroes or criminals, My friends Called me both, marked me with the scarlets signs of a traitor and a martyr to kill me and vow at my funeral glory

the winter came back.. I cant breathe without you

and every word in austria spelled your language, as the streets of bogota kept in their dwelling depth your smell as paris was the memorial of your absence and Prague your mausoleum in the shape of Samarian houses and Dutch Windmills.

I cant live without you

it s been quite a while, I accepted to live like a dead. nothing changed, just the passion and the amok pushing inspiration to fulfill my actions turning them into beauty. aesthetical violence like raping a bride dressed Woman

Ohne Dich
kann ich nicht sein

you are my most pleasurous cancer

Post Its And Dreams

Not many things are as useful as a post it.
every word you write in that scrappy piece of paper has a special meaning.
Turns out to be poetry without meaning it to be
I wrote my last Words in a Post it
" Besa, Would you come back with me?"
then I left, Sticking it in the Green door
after a moment of anger and hate
of Failed Lust
Keine Lust
and all the pain in me
flushed down the toilet
thanks to a post it

Thats it, a post it, like russian Roulette, like genocide, like Suicide, like birth and death

the final solution

Erdit

Strage weeks, Marcela gets fired, so do I. the african calls and claims for time with me as Besa Left for Spain leaving me alone and bored in the city of lights that burns in fire and Claims another bastille. policemen on the street crossing stares at french hopelessyouth
that man looked a lot like me, his name is Erdit, a Friend of Era, my sponsor these last days, Erdit was born the same day I did, He lives in Italy, She speaks like me, in albanian but like me, He Saw what I couldnt see.. albanian psyche.
that day I got fired. felt Free, like having a shit and feeling all the crap inside of you evacuate. I Felt angry. Went to pigalle and Ran, through the masses of pimps prostitutes gypsies killers and assasins, Ran, through them, against them, looking at their eyes with anger and peace, Communicating Words of Anger with love. Looking them mlike Death Came disguised at me. Went up the montmartre hill, looked at the city, feeling like an emperor and seeing it all burn, neron, giving a fuck of it, like Erdit said. just give a fuck about everything except fucking.

Then We went to bastille 2 days after that. besa and some others came. We paid expensive alcohol and the ephimerous rent of a stool or chair in which we could smoke. We got out, Besa came back from spain. It was good to see her, but there was no one else on the streets of flaming paris. 5 hours ago I was with a jew and a Russian looking Eastern european empying my room. the jew looked like a beggar, smelling like shit and being absurd, at that moment I walked at his side, Playing rasputin pushing a supermarket caddie that We found on the street filled with house stuff. police stopped. looked at us and left. I wasnt burning cars... my neighbour was on fire... and the firemen saved only his cat

it is late now.
and I give a fuck about anything
except fucking
cheers

Gypsies on Fire

I lost my job
I lost my house
I lost my salary

I earned my freedom back

and Conquering love

Here I
go playing star again, on the road, here I come, like a Gypsy, homeless, in BURNING PARIS

Burn Burn Burn

and its all so bright and fine

Paris At Night

breaking the silence about important subjesct mean Violating the code that says silence worths more than a thousand Words. I dont talk much about this place where I live in, the city of blinding lights, Where I came Looking for the Paris I heard about in songs and remembered in the stories of my grandma and the souvenirs of a Quick Childhood I spent Here and In bucarest.

Paris' charm is the same charm that French Women have, You fall inlove of them not because of their values but of their flaws. their Graces are hidden well behind their arrogance, their parfumed and rotting smell, they beauty is reflected in their physical and scarce ugliness. the same is with paris. the city of lights that welcomes you with insults arrogance and a bunch of senseless frenchmen, africans pretending to be black americans and arabs pretending to be bin ladens among chineese being chineese and latins being as segregating as usual, where some of them play to be inhabitants of saint germain and drivers of their own jaguar as some earn their live being rednecks or house painters....

We came here, we, the non bane students looking to learn about the madness of the place that saw the moulin rouge give birth to toulouse lautrec and the scenario of the revolution where men claimed their rights and demands. We came here Cause there was something else to find yet unexistant somewhere else. We lived here, like beggars, on the streets, eating in gypsy markets and Wandering the rivers shores being again the princes of muntenia or hong kong that we were once upon a time. We live a fairytale where you have to be pityless and coldblooded cause your best friend Will be the one to stab you and the woman you love Will be the most deadly bliss..

It all started in a rooftop somewhere near Montmatre, in the Quarter of light - Opera- It all continued in the streets of Saint Germain, in an art school that taught almost every taschen published artist how to succeed. It Started in many places, being mad and Going Wild, Learning to smoke and Drink, Learning to live without heat and sun and people. It all started everywhere with the failed desire of one day going back home. Here, in the lonely company of people from the world, We became another drop in the ocean as they acknowledged I was a blood drop in a martini glass

Here We are, fantasising under the legs of the eiffel Tower
Living like a miserable prince
lurking in excessive charm elegance and hate that comes from everyone to everyone here
pretending to be strong
claiming to be pure
and saint
in this, the land of the Devil

Earth's most exquisite hell

Paris s eveille ( jacques dutronc)

Black Cigarettes

Martinis, black Cigarrettes Fridays....

Its al you need for a queer Night

First It was Monsieur Gun, then It Was her. now It is me;
a friend o Mine Said he Wanted to kill himself, he went for a Stylis haircut and asked is close ones to go for an HIV test. then Proposed a Mass suicide
" i m already dead I said"
Then I realized I was tired as Parisian cold comes back a cinq heures paris s eveille.
and this is sureal an abstract and Avantgarde.
too basquiat, to Dali
you cant understand.
I thought I could do it
I am lost, still I ow Where I am
in the depths of my Own Psychology

Paris s eveille et ma vie disparait seconde a Seconde

Olavia Heads for japan, The martinilady for the states. my Parents to Greenland. me.. to Prague....

and We all Dissapear in earth's different faces, in the dar sides of the moon and the cold sides of the sun.
We all dissapear in the fog. still I only see your faces there.
down under, in the corner, I sit, Looking at your eyes like a Monalisa. Being Selfishly stylish judging and Killing. like a God, like a Mad man.

We are all in a porn movie
We are all so kitsch
We are all so dirty

And hell I am happy. still without What I look for

I quit smoking
If I am going to Toast my sou.. then Lets Wait to hell to burn it.. if he can

It was a pleasure, the privilege.. all yours

I Am Jack's Broken Heart/ I am Jack's Mad Mind