I Found God!

Appendix

Glossarium,in a non alphabetical order for your understanding
Glosario, en un orden no alfabetico para su mejor entendimiento
Glossaire, dans un ordre non alphabetique pour votre Meilleure comprehension

A

Aanvallen/Aanvalluh: ( Nederlandse), Attack, Charge, Fire, let's go...

Poyehali (Russian): Cf. Aanvallen

Heelvullen: (Nederlandse); Fill it up, dutch Translation o the colombian expression Con toda!.. mettre le paquet

Muntenia: Romanian province whose capital is Bucharest

Bucarest la Grande; in opposition of bucarests' surname (little Paris) Paris vould be the Great Bucharest

Pigalle: The parisian sexual market center... the first place I lived in France.. and one of the most beloved

De Wallen, Walletjes, RDL: The amsterdamse Pigalle

Amsterdam: Capital of the Noord holland Provincie, The city that invented capitalism, The city of some of my best memoires...

Rotterdam: Europe's biggest port, Home of Laura, Iris and Peter, One of the best cities I have seen and one of the top 5 most dangerous in the World

Malaquais, Architecture school in paris, Where I study.. my most feared enemy

Praha, The city of Gold, and music. the True center f the world

Tirana: Bogota Santamarta Kingston Tirana... and there you can say you saw it all in life...

absynth: the green fairy, a prohibited alcohol, probably the only drug i Like

Rom, romanichel, Gypsy, manouche: the human parallel to judaism, part of my ancestry

Macondo, Garcia marquez surreal land, inspired in Aracataca Magdalena Colombia and the northern coast of the country like santa marta, where I was born

The Macondian miracle, engel atreyu's alter ego
Engel Atreyu: The macondian miracle's alter ego

Baquiat, Jean michel. American Painter whose life and artwork inspired the ideals of this blog

ekeko: South american ( peruvian bolivian) statuette, that makes miracles in exchange of a cigarrette that you let burn in his mouth.. ekeko 's day is the 24th january the same day I was born

Dar plomo: to fight for something you love

War: Love

Bunker: Cold hearted women or men, That in the end no bomb will break, just cupid, naked playing with a kalash.

Fandango: Musical Genre, Party made in the name of something sad, sacrifice for a divine god in exchange of redemption

Martini, my favourite drink

amsterdamer my favourite Brand of tobacco

Boots, my weak point

legs, my favourite point

eyes, the door of the soul

hands, the doors of the mind

heart, the biggest atom in life, break it and you'll find worse than hiroshima

Love, friendship woth sex

true love, Hate with sex

friendship: that thing that comes when you wish one person could get something you need before you do

hate, that thing that pushes you to want to be like that person u don't like

beauty.. when i close my eyes and I think of you

passion, comfortable silence

silence: Run in bunker.

Kiss.. close encounters of the fourth kind

Amsterdamse Spleen

Amsterdam: The city that invented capitalism, the city that took freedom as a vertue, The center of world trade, the place where the local ways mixed with the alien ones... Amsterdam, The place where many men were reduced to slaves, where prostitutes became Ladies ( and pieces of the Rijksmuseum); The center of the drug culture.. The arena where I made some of my favourite miracles.. and the landmark where I met happiness... and sudden Death

It had been a year. as I said. Nothing changed too much, Except the company of Era and German, Amsterdam was as usual the same city where no one is really welcome but where i felt home. This time I didn't come to see the girl of the cap, or the nightwatch or the strangers in the Vondelpark. It was about finding out who was that girl I was draming about long time ago. Before I met her, Before I kissed her, before I saw her. It took a long way. writing an article in record speed and smiling to get the permission to leave to the northern venice was not such a piece of cake. I remember the bus, with the antwerpian guy next to me, writing questions to himself.. I remember the expectations.. the great expectations, about the dear one and her friend.

Amsterdam didn't change. It was like her, Mon amster-dame bien aimée. the kind of place you want to hold but keeps you in distance, so close, so strange, so intimate and yet unknown. Dilema came, To be or not to be, She loves me she loves me not, as the tulip leaves were falling all along the grachts under the bent houses' eyes. I remember her touch, that way she used to touch my forehead and then my nose ( the thing i loved the most with her) just as the city's sky tenderly did. I remember her kisses, Violent, deep, Passionate, like the life in the city.. Her voice, like the amsterdamer history..her confidence and honesty.. Like the dutch way of life.. sometimes good, sometimes hard. herself, Beautiful and unaffordable, not like the women glasses proudly expose in de Wallen.. but like the ones hidden where common eyes cannot see..

I remember her... in my dreams, dreams of amsterdam, of the city of glory, The arena where we used to play. bang, she shot me down, bang, i hit the ground
but I aint dead.. the heart is still beating dear...

I don't know you too much.. but It has been a long time that I have been looking for you... and I don't want you to go, like a nice dream, Like macondo, the memory that never exsited, like everything we could be, one day one day...

the heart is still beating, the city asks for more, Life demands for the impossible, Amsterdam was not built in a day... amsterdam did not exist.. they wanted to have their perfect city, and they made it.. why cannot we have our small pretty world to ourselves...

So, it is just a matter of thinking on the gambits played by life. We leave in anger, like piracy came to the city... I look forward for the day, you and I Ride a tandem through amsterdam, Paris, Strasbourg, Tirana or bogota, finding out we discover, one in the other, our little world

aanvallen! je t aime bien.. au fond, comme je te l ai dit un jour, je t aimais avant de t avoir connu, je t avais connu avant de t avoir rencontré. on verra qu' est ce qui nous attend.. mon tandem pete sa mere.. et j ai bien envie de partir, defier les Moulins geants avec toi, Dulcinée, ou je n ai pas de grandes chances de les abbattre, mais au moins, une chance, toute petite, de retrouver les sourires tant perdus, et de commencer, par un tel absurde, le préambule de notre histoire

Like amsterdam.. this hasn't got to be the last time we come... It could be the First
ca ne doit pas etre la fin, peut etre, simplement, le début

Ay Lili..... en el fondo aprendi a quererte....

Den Amsterdamse Droom

I think of it like it was yesterday. the first Time I stepped foot in there. all disgusted by the fake, the unclassy and the hashish smell all around us, as the Kruisplein Became the first place in the world where people were speaking something i did not understand ( as I forgot my vlaams since I was a kid) and there, on the queensday, the little redhoodgirl appeared. we ate turkish pizza and Hell came loose... I will never forget it.. it was there, in a place Called Cabaw, between Rotterdam and Amsterdam; Zuid Holland and Noord Holland, that the History of a Macondian deicide started.. we went to the road, put our hands up, and got to amsterdam in a BMW because of a gay guy that was depressed...

I remember the second time. Era shat on the fan, I left to barcelona, a mysterious guy that in a while would become my best friend got me out of serious shit in Spain, just asking, in return, for my company in Leiden to have absynth.. It took me 2 Days where I went through 5 countries and I met Joaquin, one of my fave human beings ( Tio tio tio, cuanto te extrano camionero andaluz) getting to Roosendaal, Rotterdam, Denhaag and then Leiden to se German, a Little fella that could do something I had never seen before..... Talk and think like me. German and his world were wonderful, the pervert spanish guy that lived with him, The Italian Guy that was the perfect cocktail between a criminal mastermind, a bonvivant and a serious student, The greek Girl, the dutch Girls From the Einstein and the spanish people..; but how to forget the bulgarian Guarrilla that just showed up looking for a boyfriend and fast sex... or how to forget Juan Rafael.. the living example of the guy that makes you feel ashamed of Being colombian ( yes, since that day I stopped being colombian.. I Became a Macondian).. how to forget all that... but specially.. the 8 hours in a bike, 50 kms Leiden-Amsterdam that We hit With G just to see the Walletjes.. and to discover what would make of our lives.. so bittersweet: The Prostitute of the Cap " la puta de la cachucha"...

I remember the last time.. Brussel, with Era; I came back, To see Laura and German, The rotkappje and the little genius... With Era, who was, as her name says, the only thing I cared in this whole bullshit. They were happy, surprised, probably sad finding out that a guy like myself would actually be, by his own will, a slave of hiw own poison... How to forget Foppe, the old Guy that gave me that joint, that nearly killed me, how to forget the train, the prostitute of the cap, the fake rembrandts, the Haaring, The bicycles.. The smell Of the Vlakke Land.. the taste of the arepa.. and drinking colombiana in the Spuistraat with 3 Colombian Transvestites...

Fuck.. i've been into weird shit...

Hold on tight.. I'm back..

and not alone.

Terug van den Amsterdamse Droom...

I remember..

I remember the last time....

I remember... Edlira.