23

Another day another year, another Second another life


Lucas Giraldo
24011985

11 January 2008

ditelindjien vitineri Besiana... je crache sur nos souvenirs par plaisir... parce que la poussiere demande à etre netoyee par la salive des anciens amours de guerre...

FOr Mimosa Mirabella... and the wholness of the fucked up situation


Holland is a nice place, I've said that millions of times in this blog, Small coloured houses, people from everywhere, the smell of raw haaring op den straat, various versions of the women of your dreams behind glass chambers ( that sell you hell and paradise for 50 eurodollars 30 if je spreek nederlands...) drugs, the ones we hate, beautiful rich tourists, tulips, freedom, bicycles, architecture... and flat land...

For me Holland was memories, I began to go back and forth because there was something more in holland for me than what my eyes could hold... I realize it all sweeps away in tears. It was there where priftu said goodbye, there I had small accidents, there I froze my ass and where I started feeling the lack of motion comming to my life. I am writing again, Not because holland was good or bad but because Holland was different. it all started at 5 o clock in the morning in Den Haag Centraal; the Macondian Miracle gets off a bus and a slight thin ice slides in the air (-5°). I was expecting for this address ( XX Vijzselstraat scheveningen) to be smssed to my phone. It never Came, My friend didn't come for me and she just managed to turn off the phone. I was alone there, no clue, just a tram line and fancy british speaking junkies on the street. Creepy enough to make me wander through a city i sort of love and hate. The hague, European caricature of santamarta, The rich the poor the bad and the sea all in one... don't forget the Queen. After 5 hours of walking with 25 kilos on my back and shivers on me I found the bike, by chance, and then the house, and then my friend, unhappy to see me spend christmas with her. the message was clear, holidays were not about holland, or about the memories.. they were about the end of the year, the end of days, of things,.. the beggining of a new era.

so, It started with a journey through the unknown, looking for a place i've never been before. I ended up sharing time with 20 year old filipinos that discovered they were going to become a family, with an airheaded kosovar that answered questions that broke my head all along 2007, with dutch friends with whom we used to have conflict as our language and with a monochrome iris that just got to say goodbye...

11 days have passed since the first day in a decade i got to burn fireworks, to have a joint of those i hate in the memory of the shitloaded year i passed. Of the day a traincontroller graced me upon not having a ticket and a 200 euro fine he just didn't feel, strangely to cash on me.

I just got to france, loving what I hate, becoming diferent and introspected, full of plans and architecture of life, Working, homeless, thoughtful..

and then I got some mail... and I understood that phoenix is not a bird, nor a city

just an angel

Make me fly to mars dear Mirabella, no need for romance, no need for nothing, just a simple pretext to dare again, to gamble it all on black, to pretend to cheat on the wise, to know more than the devil, to be whiter than the uncoloured and to be free like the broken..

It is time for aanvallen

happy birthday bighmouth, I hate you because i'll always love you under my satin dreams and oversexed memories.