It Haunts me..

Tirana bar, Bogota Colombia. the "only" albanian Bar in the world

Pixel Love

It never took me by surprise the fact that the day I met you, I never imagined i would one day, long after that, be loving you without any senseful limit. Troughout life we create an ideal of human perfect match. I blame on you my first pixel retouches on what would be the woman of my life. I Guess it was never meant to be one, but a mosaic of lookalikes like warhol's artwort or just a human evolution "monkey to man" sketch by darwin. I feel quite astonished dear, to see how you were the begining of something that already existed in the past, even before i was born. you showed yourself like a cheap copy of my mother that I Love so much. I gave you all trust and love in some cases, don't worry dear you.. i do love you, i just can't afford to be the usual shit the past made me into. You are my best untouched work dear. I loved you, neither you or I accepted it - as they never accept they love me, and if they do, they detract-. I am not the kind of man fit to pink stories and a homelike sex life. I belong to the love of the butchers, killes, billiard players and gamblers. our ideal are our own private prostitutes, tortured by life and past, Fiathful to us since they are so true no one would dare to touch. I am part of the circle of humans that Cannot say I love you without - bitch- next to it, We insult and hurt our beloved since that's why we love them.. they keep us on the ground, struggling for the premature ashes of our history written in kerosene over toilet paper or One dollar Bills. We love the reject from the whole world. we look for the rare and unexistant jewels of mankind. beautiful women that have this small detail that makes it all fuck up. beautiful women with bad tempers or simply, perfect girls whith felt down breasts fucked up teeth and a nice way of walking... oh if you all knew, my dear loved ones, how many pixels did i change in your life and how many perfect panoramas did you change on mine. how did tender forbiden flesh adventures turn into bitter fights and how did those fights turned into our black market relationship. You never said you loved me, you even wrote it on that testament you all left to the devil in case of me leaving out. you all knew i could dissapear in 5 seconds, but i never did. You all knew i turn people into angels, but i turn angels into shit.. ad you all turn me.

Pixels... our heart is just a pixel box.

-For all the ones I have loved, for the ones I never told them i did, for the ones that wished i did and specially...

for you all that now hate me madly-

Elvira

Felices 85 anos Elvira. que Sigas Feliz, como una Lombriz

Strange Times: The Karslruher, the neighbour, Cookies and Pixels

Pachi came to see me, It have been 5 years since our last visit. He's my german cousin. we met long ago and became friends in family for shared passions and ideas. Time passed, his sister grew up as we all did, we turn out to be a hell of a group when we meet even though it doesn't happen a lot. Pachi reentered my life through facebook. He was living in Germany, becoming a designer and passionate about his career. He had the chance to expose in Paris' mondial de l' optique some designs of his glasses while Starck was saying hi and the croatian girl was becoming into something kind of cute as champagne and cocktail cakes made of conversations with tibor something nice. There was no time and a lot of fatigue. It was nice to see pachi and to plan something for christmas ( München ??) even if it was all the beggining of a voodoo soup cooking along the weekend.
The neighbour called. I met Benoit looking for a free ride to Strasburg 7 months ago to negociate my break up with Priftu. The neighbour asked me to help him cook cookies... I rose my shoulders and said Ok. cooking turned up tino something nice and exceptional. Home made fancy wine, unlimited freshly baked cookies, a nice conversation about all and nothing and finally.. the strangest Party i' ve ever been.

There was a cremaillere ( innaguration of appartment) near place clichy, Place clichy is one of those neighbournhood everyone hates.. but I find it somehwat charming. We met Ben's ex roomates, a bunch of nicean Girls - all kind of very pretty and bad tempered- all drunk. Ronan, the strange guy from the school crashed in. We spoke, drank and made fun of people while they all fucked between them in the bathroom, in the toilet, in the livingroom, against the door, in the fridge and even under a rooflamp. i felt alive, drunk and alive. I laughed and had fun with all the circus of beauty - as men were all surfer lookalikes- until a fucked up and not very graced goth girl came up and said, touching me gently " You have a beautiful nose.. it makes me horny".Fasten your seat belts, back to reality, time to heed to the toilet, ask ben to come out home while he was in a 5some in a baththub where I threatened him to come out or I would puke on them.. they laughed and I just fored my self to puke... a beautiful pink-green vomit came out from me as i felt doing " real life photoshop" pouring a mask efect on the picture, pure trashy art and pornography, as I was all proud of my art and they didn't mind the sickness but invited me to join, as I held my last been and fag and left with someone from corsica that was kind of too drunk for me and I left at ben's pad along with min and my food. no time to sleep... 3 hours later the Colombian fellow was here to photoshop as I felt still drunk and achy... laughing and realizing My love for smoking is fading out.

now now I know how joan of arc felt.... la lalalalala lala alala al lalalala lala lalala lalala lalala lalalalalalalalalala lala lala lalalalalalaalalaa lalalala lalalalalalaaaalalalalalalalalala

Big mouth lalala lal lada

Brothers in Arms

I have been given a beautiful family, the best parents I could have asked for and no brothers ( since I guess I must be a hard pain in the ass to bear). I have been given wise grandparents, Loving and filled with histories and feelings as I want to be. I have been given two Beautiful hands that have allowed me to tender touch and fight. I have been given a beautiful face or Belle gueule in french that provided me the entrance to every circle I needed or wanted to be in. I have been given Charm and a nice voice to hipnotize, convince, buy, negociate and even take advantage on the world. I have been Given oportunities to be wasted and taken. I have been given a beautiful present. my friends.


Annabel left France not long ago. Annabel is my favourite Frenchie. We all know a little bit about annabel. It would seem I never talk about her, I just don't do it explicitely. Annabel was one of the 2 good things that happened to me last Year. I care about her as I care for my dearest catalina. We Fight allday long, just because we love the violence between us... we struggle with no cease.. because we like to be victorious in our defeat.

Laura is part of the one of a Kind. I met laura through a man I do not like too much. he sent mail. I sent myself. that day I played el quijote de la mancha in a bicycle fighting the windmills of Kinderdijk. Laura was the lover I'll never have. the red packaged chocolate. the evil conscience dressed in good. the chicken that eats a T rex in less than a Click. She's somewhat a best friend. the best man or the thinkerbell of hard times. Laura Laura lady Laura... me abraçe forte!!! me lleva pra casa!!

Juliana, well, both of them lost their dad, one is a med student in france. Let's say i love her a lot but i don't like her. she gave me a hand at the first moment I got here, unwillingly, but she did. The other one, La milagrosa, came without a notice. we shared the same stories in different characters. we spoke, worked, Fought, laughed and even delired. I miss her, even if rupture just brought Juan Miguel along. sort of my roomate. if you're a Colombian, you've seen him. He was on reality contests. I like the man. I enjoy the man, Time and our 15 minutes of solitude have bent us like lanzas ( Colombian soldiers) We talk about life, dreams, love, hate and even.. the Devil an all those things taken away by the wind... We're americans... we're used to hurricanes, tornados and the fucking wind... we just hate it on sunny days... whee the wind is gone.

German is German, the genius man. Don't ask. germancho.blogspot.com. I would Give my right - and last- testicle for him. he's getting married in a month. I'm gonna miss him as much as he misses me. I met him getting out of trouble in Barcelona. I paid him a debt. I earned an absynth drink and a trip to Amsterdam by bike just to tour the Walletjes. I really miss this guy, The other ne of a kind, the b side of laura and the good conscience dressed in dandy and patriot clothes.

Etienne Is the parisian one. He's with anthony and Ben pretty much what I call friends here. Etienne is old, not as old as he lives. Etienne lived in africa. he's a black man wrapped in white skin. I like discussion with him that last less than 2 hours. Etienne Used to be Era's boyfriend - she is kind of the sister I never had But I ain't talking about that for now, Read the blog previous posts and you'll get the picture-. Etienne Is my guardian angel, My depressive Prozac. the talented musician architect that shares an encyclopedia of inner jokes with me. I like this Guy.. I would love to like him more.

Tamyzinha is the brazilian jew. don't ask neither. her mom is a 300 kilo kinesitherapist from Sao paulo. they are both adorable. tamy appeared to save my life a day where I had nowhere to sleep or leave, she took me home, with her husband. We became friends, Co-nationals, partners, enemies and cigarrette smmuglers. I like tamy. she was one of the Malak Dissidents with me, she made it though... I was caught in the border.. the next time, the next time

Felipe.. the Madman. He's the one that taught me how to rule the world with a spoon. to travel with a finger and to sing with your eyes. He's the best life teacher you can have. I lives with him in Saint Germain, fancy paris, 3 years ago. He's angelicas best friend - Old posts for further information- and he lived on his own, no money, no food, no nothing, Just inspiration feeding us, the day on day and luck. I owe this man part of the prime matter of my adventures.. thanks to him I visited spain, holland, belgium, luxembourg, strasbourg, germany, austria, hungary, czech republic, albania, Italy and Monaco... thanks to him I did 37000 kms for free ( that's the equator line)

All I have is no words to talk about you all

Nenesitlenà

(Lightness "ceska")

Lately I have been having nice Dreams.Questions and dilemmas turning out to become simpler and easier to analyse. past turning like wine in glosious Reasons for a present and souvenirs old toys we'll one day play again with. I have been drawing myself a plan. contingency for a Life. The how to become the someone you want to be thing. I' ve realized I have nothing to really complain for. except the fact I am only lacking o my deepest desires and needs. I'm Armed with the basics. Good friends - some of them getting married- and good culture - I stand 20 hours in a cocktail without shutting up-. the same as the Arrival of juan miguel has become a way of vengeange revenge and payback ( Three words are not enough to describe my sehnsucht about last year's homeless state) of 2006's fall and 2007.

Yesterday I went to bed with no glory, except the one of feeling confortable again. I made myself the finest of coffees and decided that it was time to stop smoking so much. I went on the bed, alone, no lullabies, just the thoughts of conversations with juan migul and Ben. Curiously people talks to us about the same subject without us asking about it. It was all on the attitude. the fetish of style and charm has come back in my life. I can no nothing except welcome it. I called austria and the entire world. I was born again.. a long time ago since the day I died.. but this was the first step of my newborn life.

I feel temporarily emancipated. I feel alright. not fine, just alright. I do not need nothing. I want the World. the world that was mine, the old ways. the days the butcher killed with no need of ammo. the days where I could smile looking at someones eyes.. I miss Catalina.

It is time to leave. I conquered Berlin ---ü b e r a l l e s---... Hang on London.

Hang on all on you..

Abranse Gavilanes, que Vuelve el Aguila Real.

La Diabla

La Diabla a la final no era tan mala Gente. Llego como un angel, mandada del cielo, a hacerme un milagro y sacarme de un calvario. Quién iba a pensarlo; Los diablos haciendo el trabajo de los angeles y los angeles de juerga poniendole cachitos a uno y pintandole la cara de rojo ( por aquello de la sangre que se sube a la cabeza de nosotros, los simples mortales). La Diabla no solo sabia de caricias, sino de Amor. Era el sueno de todos nosotros, de esos suenos que se hacen realidad y uno no cree, porque uno nunca cree en lo demasiado bueno. La diabla aparecio, amandonos al instante como si nos hubiese querido toda una vida y deseandonos como si fuera la primera vez que el deseo humano, ese que va mas alla de la carne y los huesos, tocaba a su puerta.

El tiempo paso y la Diabla siguio siendo un angel de la guarda y mas de nada una Dulce compania. no nos desamparaba ni de noche ni de dia y para eso de la paz y alegria no habia mejor mediador - o ejecutor- que la mismisima Diabla. La Diabla sabia, o mas bien le habiamos dicho de lo que se daria cuenta. Sabia que era un plan B pero como todo plan B siempre temrina siendo el A, la Diabla jugo a reganadientes un juego que sabia que terminaria ganando. La Diabla se porto bien, mejor que el mismo Dios, porque como dicen los sicarios " entre Dios y el Diablo, Dios es mas bacan, pero el Diablo es mas generoso" y que me perdone mi Dios, pero ahi poco se le peude refutar al patas. La Diabla nos amo, Tanto que era exagerado, tanto que no tenia sentido y tan poco sentido tenia que era hermoso y ya la amabamos por eso - pero no podiamos aceptarnoslo diabla, tu que amabas a un Angel y yo que Moria por una diabla-. Llego el dia en el que la Diabla Vio en mis ojos el deseo morir por el amor. La Diabla se fue, Amo a cualquiera como solo yo Pense que podia amarme. Construyo en 3 segundos lo que en una eternidad habiamos sonado juntos. La Diabla se Fue, y como el Generoso Diablo, tomo su ventaja sobre mi. La verdad es que se porto bien.. el problema es que se porta demasiado bien..

Pobre Diabla.

God be With you

God be With you all

Hold on, Stand still, rally on ground. Don't run, Breathe and inhale with your eyes open. Feel those 3 seconds of life where all the eternity you have lived flashes beyond your eyes. Fear is an old fashioned feeling for you now. Heartbeats become the main drum of the symphony of the moment. Excitement Amok and Panic exist no more. 5 senses Turning into 6, then to none. The whole surrounding becomes a single detailed technicolor image in stereo sound where you feel the presence and identity of every single and mere detail. Feel. Tension and stupor. Feel it all.

Let it all bind you..

make it all a part of you.

then, only then, you might have found God

Duty

some think they came to life for a reason, to do something and to contribute to history with something else than being a living bill of oxygen and food.it has ben a long time I have been obessed with my role in this game. since I was born I never understood what I was really meant to do expecting to do something useful and fulfilling, something I would take a pleasure on doing. I dreamt of being important before even being someone. I wanted to change things and I still concurr with that idea.

As a kid i wanted to be a violinist. that proyect is still on my mind. I never looked for becoming menuhin but to be able to touch people without my hands somewhere deeper in their hearts. I grew up, realized that the problem about becoming a Violinist was that I had to become a musician and that musicians are, in general cases, hedonistic beasts with a vanity problem - as I am- but still, thet lacked on the mental consciousness of the other ones and specially themselves. Years after I tought about being an inventor, creating techonolgies, ideas, machines, medicines, ways of life, laws, new lands to live, explore, exploit, extrude and conquer. That kept in me even if time proved that it wasn't a matter of ideas but Ideals.. and by so, money, power and publicity.

I became an " architect" to correct god's unfinished work. he took 6 days creating the earth, the universe, the milkyway and even Mars - we now understand where all those chocolate bar names come from-. I still pass my day along teachers that praise themselves as their own god and students that pretend to be Justice with rayban's on, judging and talking on life work and everything around their lives as if they held absolute truth. I bore myself there even if I have to say, I 've met wonderful people that inspired me to be the man I am today - unperfect but stangely good-. architecture gave me curiosity on life, on death, on poverty, on love and on friendship. It brought me a strong connection with my parents and with the places I see. It drew the importance of the scenario in my everyday history and it brought me a pairs of muses like Annabel that I shall never forget, Architecture became my duty, my duty as a writer, as a lover, as a man and as a father.

I shall be then a pornographic architect, changing the way you live think and even breathe. It's not that I am right and you are wrong. we all are wrong and right. I am not looking to impose my ideas on this world, but to impose the dilema about stopping forcing people to do what they have to do. I dream of a day we all enjoy our work, our life and even our boredom. I dream of a day where I can talk to you and you'll answer the phone on me again, not for a fight but for cofee time and a Martini you owe me since that first time we met. I dream for a day People would understand why do I struggle for them and Why do I smile even covered in pigshit or Gold. I have a fetish on the day I would all go unormal and we'll all star running on eachother, happy, without the vain armor we're covered on. I dream of seeing you biuld a Life in Newcastle and to return over there, in the east, to see you sing again like Waltraud and then Sink in that olde bed of yours from where I used to throuw you down while you were surfing your nightmares. I dream of kebab kisses and Forbidden sex being allowed. I dream of the first time we kissed and you sent me home. I dream of my mom and dad. I dream of the devil dressed in white and jesus in a cadillac. I dream of My long and beautiful hair again. Of the man I used and wanted to be. I Live the dream of my duty free.

Cent Wilsons de Solitude

The army Of ONE

Paris est une ville ou les gens viennent pour se rendre à leur rendez-vous avec la solitude. Paris, un des endroits les plus peuplés du monde. des rues où l'on parle des langues inouies et où l'on rencontre des anges des diables et des tarés. Paris, Je t aime. Paris, je t' encule. Paris, Je t' enmerde.

Les gens me font rire, spécialement à Paris; Petite carnivale où l'on marche tous avec le désir d' etre regardés du bas et on nous crache du haut. Il faut être prétentieux à Paris, Il faut être Malsain à Paris. Serrez les dents mesdames et messieurs. On vous crache dans le trou de balle et vous commencez à faire une gueule Bizzarre ( comme si vous priez pour la première fois en attente d' un miracle qui ne vous fera que du mal) Paris, La ville grise de la melancholie - parce que personne aime à Paris-. Lutetia... la ville où j' ai appris à mordre fort et à ne pas lâcher.

Il dépend de celui qui passe que je sois tombe ou trésor, que je parle où je me taise, ceci ne tiens qu' a toi. ami, n' entre pas sans désir. c' est écrit sur un des musées du trocadéro. Personne y rentrera - comme dans ce musée- Ne vous en faitez pas, vous vous y installez pour une durée indétérminée mais vous savez que c' est un truc passager. Vous y ferez jamais partie, meme si votre maman est edith Piaf où si je suis votre grand pere. vous y serez seul et misérable.. et vous allez prétendre que ca vous plait ( et ce qui est grave, vous aller le croire)

On dit dans mon continent, le nouveau beau monde, une copie cheap de l' ancien, que l' on peut pas mourir sans être venu à Paris. Paris est la cigarrette qui vous sème votre cancer. c' est le début de votre infartus. Paris nuit à la santé et aux spermatozoïdes. Paris vous tue... mais au fond, on estès tous pour ca, pour crever un jour en se souvenant de l'entrjambe de la tour eiffel où de la beauté idéalisée d' une Parisienne que l'on a croisé dans la rue - et qui peut venir de votre meme coin où même de l' autre bout du monde- en retrouvant en elle la femme parfaite avec un joli défaut qui la redescend sur terre - tout un prétexte pour ne pas être le diable parmi les anges-.

et je vous regarde, chers collègues, Parisiens, Fils bâtards de la Marianne et de la Marseillaise. enfants d' une Patrie qui n' a jamais eu de revolution concluse. je vous regarde et vos idéaux sont restés des belles idées oubliées sous la poussière. vous ne voyez que par votre cul et votre indifference et arrogance distinguee que l' on deguise en orgueil - parce que ca fait plus chic, comme une merde arrachée à un ruban dior- c' est ce qui vous accable sans arrêt et vous fout parterre...

j' étais l' un d' entre vous. mais maintenant je ne suis pas un parisien de plus. je suis un passager dans vos rues, qui puent la merde la pisse et le mauvais coup. Vous sentez mauvais, vous êtes hors contexte, à côté de la plaque comme on le dit ici. Vous n' etez qu' un paquet de demodés persuadez que c' est vous qui avez cree le beau et l histoire et la liberté sans vous rendre compte que vous etes esclaves de ce qui vous entoure. Que le Roi des cons habite à Paris et que la couronne s'éténd de Clignancourt à Porte d' Orleans - la ligne 4 étant le plus gros joyeau de tel sacre objet-. Ils sont où les sans culottes - au féminin merci-. ils sont où les rêves de jeunesse, les délires de romance, l' amour malsain et la gueule de taré qui joue son propre jeu?

rendez vous compte... vous etes seul à Paris, entouré d' un tas d' amis imaginaires qui n' existent pas (et auxquels vous obeissez). vous n' etes rien d' autre que le décor de mon Pire Basquiat.

Cocktail for Melancholy ( to be served With a Hollandse Roeketje)

I found you, no matter when, no matter how, no matter the reason. Somewhere along the path of my life i decided to step onto yours not by accident but with the clear intention of commiting one of my legendary crimes and probably my most beloved masterpiece. We met, unexpectedly but it all came along with the inspiration of the moment. An eye glare, secret cornered smile, tender cheek retraction and a sudden change of the voicetone... what a perfect prelude to Porn opera (cf. the nibelungen) and Future borning hate.

I remeber you, as the latest object of fascination of the time. You came out of nowhere and I have to accept you were even more flawless than any of the creations my imagination had ever done. I think I always knew you were about to come to my life.. but as I said i was the one that stepped onto yours already making myself clear that I would not fall inlove with you - but that I wanted it so much- and that in this whole sory I would be the one carrying the pain of all my crime. I came and Sought for your heart's achilles heel finding it along my own soul's. I did what I had to do.. it's my nature baby; I kiss, I kill, I Love, I Die...

Then time passes, this is where the Art of war becomes a simple cooking lesson - or chemistry-: How to make a coctail made of memories and old feelings. I never forgot who you were, who you pretended to be and who you became as I always remembered the person I created from you. Someone perfect, Inhuman, angelical, tender loving and smart whose cruelty wasn't more than a charming game and the foolish moments were just the perfect cadence of our deepest moments... Time passed and I forgot you, rusted by time and covered by the dust hidden in my memory. In the attic of my mind, there where I keep my favourite times and glorious days. It's so silent now, we rarely find ourselves together wandering for eachother in secret because Pride keeps us alive in exchange of the sacrifice of our story... Pride bent us in silence and silence slowly became indifference and it was all a mere parody of a tragedy that should have never taken place and of which we can do nothing now, except smile like a pair of hipocrits lying to themselves about the weight of the past and the present of our bloodstreaming rate....

It died..

no need to shake, no need to stir, no need to ice or even to use a fancy glass

then suddenly old read mail, lost and found objects, a burnt by time picture, forgotten senseless presents, nightmares under satin sheets of tender violent love and coincidence brought it all back to persuade me that I actually do miss you - and that you feel the same for me-

Do you feel My absence in solitude now as I despise yours?