Enjoy the soundless wailing while emotion takes to itself the emotionless. Go to the City Of Angels, say to yourself what a wonderful world, we'll visit museums and chat Entre l'art i le subrealisme.
Enjoy traveling, follow the wings, follow what there is to conquer. Be spiritual, your hope will be hope with love, your love will be love with faith. That's your religion.
Which shall be the darkness of God? Perhaps the pope knew, perhaps the German will know. The answer doesn't send us to Sincity. We just get another panorama. The Hague waits, Escher waits, he's not dead for us. 2005 Year of fysics.

Burst, explode, explore...Enjoy pain.
We only live, expire, suspire.
Move like a dancer, dance the pain away, you must move in measure, like a dancer...a dancer in the dark. Enjoy the dance, enjoy the dark.
Feel in the red district xxx fuck the pain away, enjoy colour. She's gone. You're down...giving in, giving up, going low, even lower. Get high, get wings as body and soul begin to fall asunder. Write, my mail is open. Enjoy letters, enjoy the feelin'. [Pedrito el admirante]

She, distant but close, "sick" but beautiful. Going away to the mountains.
Although we are not, I'm always the same with her.
She will arrive, just like in San José, Costa Rica...Fruit, periodicals and business letters.
She's on fire, she's got her fire...candelas. Steadily playing golf, no regrets. Enjoy sport, enjoy fire. Future is among us, Machu Pichu, temple, ruins of the magic. Magnum Imperium Inca. Enjoy traveling. We'll meet again and drink inca cola, enjoy cola. Enjoy Peruvians, all Indian voices under oppression of white skins. Dancers are gone under the hill. San Martin de Porres. Distinguished civil servant. Enjoy the South. Get high, high and dry.
Radiohead, headphones. I miss you (Stones). I enjoy you, always did, always will.

casualties, destiny, white feathers? Subway discloses the gifts. I've met you before. I remember you. Enjoy conversations, enjoy company...
Enjoyed solitude when he left. Boston, another shore, like when I left my body on a distant shore and came with mind, soul, spirit and shells.
You where never there, you never had me. You didn't WIN me. You left. Boston. Enjoy traveling.
Those eyes, the eyes of a familiar compound ghost both intimate and unidentifiable. Enjoy eyes, no less, no more. We'll meet again, Rotterdam or Boston or just another subway but that's it. Your friend took care of the rest.


Miauwww... Vanilla smell on a Winters afternoon, in a secluded city. History is now and Bogotá. Enjoy the city streets, enjoy Bogotá. Will you drink my tea in the afternoon? Himalaya Mist Single Estate Tea. thé délicat et parfumé de l'après-midi. Himalaya, where the last of earth is left to discover. Tea and cigarettes. Miauwww...
Thai, tofu, tea-cups. History is a pattern, an Asian recipe. Enjoy cooking.
Tragedy from legs or tea leaves apprehend the point of intersection of greencurry, kroepoek and green wasabi.
People change, and smile. But dark coffee stays dark. Noir, from which the purpose break will be, only when it is fulfilled...If at all.
Purpose of eyes and legs... Coffee with blue eyes, freckles and four legs.
Draw me in Negative, black is White and white is Black.
Draw me in all shades of red.
Here, the intersection of the timeless moment. Bogotá and nowhere. Enjoy red.
Let's play low notes... Black. Ultranoir. Low.
These things have served their purpose: let them be. No regrets.
20 Seconds. First, the sexual friction of reserved senses. Later, fear of motives late revealed. No regrets. Miauwww...

Italia, dreams of streets I've never walked into. Laura,laure,laurel. Julius Cesar.
We only live, only suspire. Survive or die trying. Enjoy it.
Every word is at home, send me some of my country. Mi casa su casa.
Red Red Wine, of pure grapes from a desolated Italian town. Little Italy near Naples, Napoli. Blood into wine, red red wine, dripping blood with Gnocci di Fantasie d'Antunno. Enjoy wine.
Send me Colombia in the smell of grapes on the antunno (autumn) table, through the April dooryard.
Coin Operated Boy. Enjoy reading. La invito a bere il caffè. Que Paila, not Colombian but Italian coffee.

L'auberge dans Paris ou Amsterdam? The complete consort dancing together.
Un beau jour d'avril. Moi, je te trouve trés beau. Pourquoi? why not?
when the underground train (U-Bahn), in the tube, stops too long between stations and the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence. Not the stillness of the violin, while the note lasts. Not that only, but the inner freedom from practical desire. Body motion, slow rotation of burned tongues. Ecstasy. Enjoy violins.
Red and White... Pink, like rabbits, like lovers, like gypsies, we dance in circles. The complete consort dancing together.
Ecstasy. Orgasms reconciled among the stars with the drawing of this feeling and the voice of this calling. Moving up slowly, massive attack, enjoy the silence, condition of complete simplicity... Moving up slowly, when the tongues in wine are in-folded. Enjoy eyes, meet me at the station, let's have some expresso and kisses to go. Enjoy caffeine.

Come to me...

Malagueña Salerosa. Start me up! Es el perfume de las madreselvas, son los primeros besos de la primavera, como ejercicios inexactos de amor a la intemperie. Teatro Gitano. Rancheras mexicanas. guey. Fideos del oeste. Tarantino y cantina de Pancho de medio peso à la Changón.
Negra Modelo en la billetera. Guadalajara, Jalisco.Mexico. What is it with Jalisco that has made tequila so famous? Sierra Tequila- Sunrise- Margaritas- Bull- Lemon.
Puro. 38% Sangre mexicana.

"I'm sitting in the corner of a cantina listening to the song I requested (Malagueña Salerosa) Now they are serving me tequila and my thoughts find their way to you"

She cooks and like me, drinks tequila. I wrote in het closet "Water is to be employed, tequila to be enjoyed" I'm not an alcoholic. I'm the malagueña salerosa. I enjoy shots. Salud!Por mi mamá y la tuya también! I enjoy tequila with lemon, swing and guitars. Orale.

Tan-tan.

Children in the apple-tree. Enjoy the bitter apple and the bite in the red apple.

Now playing: Malagueña Salerosa (Changon)- Bang Bang, My Baby Shot Me Down (Nancy Sinatra)- Battle without Honour (Tomoyasu Hotei)- Woo Hoo (The 5 6 7 8s)- Flamenco Diablo-The Lonely Shepherd (Zamfir) Best served with: Tequila, pure.

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Tengo ganas de una "turkse pizza" con inca cola, guaraná, ginger ale o en su efecto las tres, que carajos.
y de postre un red-cherry pie acabado de salir del horno con una bola de gelato de vainilla.

Now playing: All over now (David Lindley ft. Ry Cooder)

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.:Lo wrote this at: 5:37 AM:.
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.:Tuesday, April 12, 2005:.

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Samson. Halfzware Shag. Geen rood maar zwart.

"If you can just get your mind together then come across to me, we'll hold hands and then we'll watch the sunrise from the bottom of the sea. But first, are you experienced?"

Sepia into Red, Perhaps I read the ash from too much cigarrettes, I tend to seek for answers that dont rely there, the smoke is just penetrating and killing my lungs, the world to that destructive smoke, which burns before you can say dung, death or even ask God for mercy.

Wind in and out of wholesome lungs.

Red into grey leaving one still with the intolerable wrestle, with a shocking valuation of all we have been and all we will never be.

The wisdom only the knowledge of dead secrets, and the wisdom of age? is it just a number or a whole constellation of events and experiences? Is knowledge derived from experience?

Grey into black, dawn points at the country side, clouds move, music moves, but the song remains the same..."meisjes met rode haren die kunnen kussen, dat is niet mis...". The black cloud carries the sun away and takes a red globe with it. Red globe down on you, pretending to travel the world in 80 days... bah, who am I kidding 40, 32. The red globe moves perpetually after the black cloud in its stillness.

What is the late April doing with the disturbance of the spring?
This is my world of perpetual solitude, where violins play with abstention from movement and red curls get empty of sensuality and deprivation. World or not world...

Dreams in the world of sexuality. Evacuation of the world of fancy, red lights of the world of spirit. Wind in and out of wholesome lungs.

Black into brown, orgasms reconciled among the stars, the trilling wire in the blood, after all I'm all in (insert colour here). Stars in the lowlands that haven't known the word spring in four seasons. Stars, seasons and constellations. Stelle marroni belle.

Land that simulates sunshine, fake. All fake. Land that waits until the red globe goes down, with the smoke and that black cloud, which use to be white, but it has been painted.

The only thing that kkeeps it's white colour is the chocolate, neither Belgian nor Swiss. Chocolate with no identification whatsoever, neither here nor there. Just white with red skin.

Voices of temptation, filled up with tobacco, dutch tobacco. Wind in and out of wholesome lungs.
Is this desire? Desire itself is movement. Love wont move, it stills the same (like the song) but I'm roodkapje and I desire love between mirrors and cigarettes, older than the time counted by anxious worried women. I take care of business and foolish letters.

Tobacco brown, perhaps this text should be read when the short day is the brightest, srping gets meaning and it's own season. When knowledge and age are no longer issues, (they aren't for me), when friends will be friends, worlds will go beyond asthenia and when our last breath will be filled up with nicotine from the lion, the shag, zware shag.

All pictures taken by Laura B.
Now playing: Paranoid Android (Radiohead), Bohemian Rhapsody (Queen), Lift Me Up (Moby), Cabaret (Louis Armstrong), Cocaine (Jimi Hendrix) Best Served with: Ufos.

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.:Lo wrote this at: 1:53 PM:.
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.:Saturday, April 02, 2005:.

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Six Pianos.

Piano: sabado aquí, viernes allá. Extraña fusión entre la muerte del invierno y la guerra ganada por la primavera. Insommia y bailoteo en la sala.Sigo siendo una piedra rodante, con la que los jugadores de poker deciden sacar su as de la manga y ganarle a la casa así todos crean que la casa es la que siempre se sale con la suya.

Fortissimo: Considero que los mejores pianistas, en su época hablaban alemán y talvez algunos ruso. Una inspiración de Rochmaninoff, Bernstein, Gershwin... un "Rhapsody in Blue"que llega hasta el delta del Mississippi.

Considero que las ovejas siempre tendrán un disfraz de lobo feroz y saldrán con el como ratones cuando los gatos se dan una siesta.

Me considero un poco como La Pianiste y no por las pecas, considero que el porno de los canales privados es de quinta, es escremento y no del bueno, porque existe toda clase de mierda, de la buena y de la mala. Por ahora los charcos de esta (buena y/o mala) siguen en la avenida y me echan cumplidos mientras les paso por encime con un bulldozer.

Sempre Piano: Espero, como siempre, como nunca, sin posesiones ni religiones. Imaginese! Y no quiero esperar, pero lo hago sin peros ni mentiras, ni respiros ni locuras. Porque el bohemio rebelde no está fuera de mi alcance, sino de mis bolsillos.

Espero sentada en la banca de siempre y sólo guardo presiones que reciclo cada año con un par de disparates, locuras, acetatos y negativos. Espero con lo que se convirtió en mi fotografía predilecta que ha quedado forjada en mi diafragma,en mi aparato fonográfico, espero a que se revele esa fotografía en un cuarto oscuro con un efecto clarojo de la ciudad luz.

Sforzando: me esfuerzo por disfrutar el sol acaramelado y el cielo con esencia de vainilla y limón.

Me esfuerzo por no perder el control mientras tengo el dedo entre un dique y las almas de granjeros holandeses, que aborrezco.

Yo la escucho, a mi fotografía y la cuelgo en la lámpara de mi mesa de noche.

Esa fotografía derrocha la imaginación, conversa con iluminaciones, improvisa lo imposible y hace de la travesura (que hasta ahora empieza) una obra de arte. Nunca había visto tanta atracción y tanta construcción en un ser humano que hasta ahora es una imagén en verdes primaverales, franceses, rusos y colombianos.

Decrescendo: Porque sigo en bajada, conociendome a mi misma. Me saludo apenas me levanto y durante el día me hago numerosas interogaciones, pero ya no me preocupo tanto por las respuestas, intento disfrutar la confianza de las preguntas y sonrio, ante la desesperanza, como cuando me llaman germánica (bah!) o cuando sonrie un culicagado cuando recibe lo que quiere y se sale con la suya (si señores, como la casa), con el as en la manga cual jugador de uno, dos o tres...

Sonrio con un diablillo en el hombro derecho y un angel desesperado en el izquierdo que me susurran curiosidades y me invitan a dar un paseo por una ciudad menos gótica que Barcelona pero más encantadora que Berlin, un paseo que me temo no puedo aceptar al instante. Perdon, puedo aceptar mas no puedo darlo, porque sigo en bajada pero con la cabeza en alto y sonrisa de porrazo.

Morendo: Roma está agonizando pero no le teme a la muerte. Una muerte lenta y devoradora que se lleva al héroe de muchos y deja milagros, sangre y leyendas. Muerte en Roma, muerte en todas las tonalidades de verde, muerte al otro lado del océano, en la lista de Schindler, muerte durante 15 años. Muerte en slow motion, no como las muertes que yo conozco y he vivido, no como este blog que muere en las mañanas, muere todos los días, muere al desayuno después de tomarse una taza de café, noir. Muere a diario pero revive para contarlo, para tomarse el té del medio día a la 1/2 noche, fumarse un cigarrillo y sonreir a mi lado mientras admiro mi fotografía y escucho seis o siete pianos del siglo XVII de fondo.

Now playing: Pärlor (Kent)- Keine Lust (Rammstein)- Sex Changes (The Dresden Dolls)- Don't Stop (Brazilian Girls)- Communication (The Cardigans) Best served with: postre fuera de aquí.

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.:Lo wrote this at: 10:34 AM:.
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