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.:Tuesday, September 27, 2005:.
Piece of a conquest. Conquest of the first world, an ancient continent.

Brainstorm. Haze. Travel. Movement.

Warning: This is a bowl of milk filled up with Cheerios and the marshmellows of a box of Lucky Charms. A Brainstorm. A Haze.
I'm in the mood of writing. I'm hungry for the taste of emptiness in my mind that's filled up with the burnt-out ends of smoky days, glorious days.
Just write... Let it go. One week stand in Spain, Italy, France...And rolling.

Streets that follow like a tedious dream, a Spanish destination.
Woke up at 3 a.m, had to take my train from Kruisplein, Central Station in about 30 minutes.Damn. Age sang me through the phone and the melody made Schiphol- Barajas go smoothly, till I noticed all the bags disappearing into their owner's hands... I saw the last bag bouncing on top of that evil mary-go-round and it wasn't mine. Mierda. They left my bag back at Schiphol. But it's ok. Madrid was friendly enough and the morning came to consciousness with all its muddy Spanish feet that press early y venga! It's ok.
Metro stations revolved the new world with the ancient one. Just like my soul is strech3ed tight across the skies that faded behind a cityblock. Colombia Station, Peru Blvd, Cartagena Av., Cuzco Square...
I' ve measured out my life in coffee spoons. A Spanish coffee to go... "Un pintao" Just to prepare a face to meet the father I once called my hero, now... He's a one serving father, a one-in-a-lifetime, an everlasting figure and a friend. We met, had some beers. Walked the Paseo la Castellana, cought up about my life and his... Talked about you (yes you) and me and us and our glorious past, future and unknown destiny for the next days.
Then I went to Gabriel and Javier's place... Gabriel and Javier, with whom I drank wine until the blood in my veins had the best Spanish grapes running as fast a a great Torero kills his bull.
With whom I played guitar until my fingers couldn't even hold a B minor and my voice was that devastated it sounded kinda corny, with whom the word perversion (I love that word) was more than that...With it's dark, complex thrill, beginning with the enigmatic P that can mean anything, then swiftly tumbling via the ruthless r to the vengeful v... and with whom I danced like a gypsy, despite my bad capacity of smooth movement at the moment, produced by the 14% of red liquid in my arteries.
Rushour. Had to take a train to the coast at 22:00. "2 por favor" " No, don't tell me you' re sold out"...My only hope to Catalunya was the bus. "Buses Anibal" with that name all I could do was pray to heaven for a decent bus driver... One that didn't drive us into hell.
Barcelona. Ciudat vella. Afterall they deserve to win. To drink of the bottle of the champions, the heroes and the villains, like kings and queens of it all. They deserved their own Arc de Triomf, and we were triumphing in Spain, taking a new road...To Rome.
Because all roads lead to Rome, and this one had no destination, not a final one.
And who could expect to see more Colombians than any other south American creature walking the city of gladiators, humanists, lovers and dreamers...And who could expect la merda di artista to be found at the subways? Or a Rumanian whispering his ambitions and vanities in Italy's greates piazzas and telling me the do's and dont's of a forgotten Bucharest?
I had no expectations. No strings attached. All rights reserved.
Death-hour. 6:55 a.m Roma Termini - Venezia St. Lucia. Death in Venice. Venice in paradise.
A trip to Venice by train: €48, An Italian gelato Pistaccio, Limone & CaffèCaramello €3, a tour gondolao through Venice's prettiest sites €100, the way an Italian gondoler grabs your ass if you stand next to him for a picture.Priceless.
Vamos juntos hasta Italia quiero comprarte un jersey a rayas.
En Venecia.... Venecia.
Merda. Had to go Back. Rome and my memory shaked through the spaces of dark midnight, with full moon, behind the Colosseo Romano. My mind reiterated some worn-out common song. A rhapsody (another beloved word) in a lunar synthesis. I missed you, I missed myself being with you. But it's ok. I was in Rome, just had been in Venice, I had you in a thousand images of which my soul was constituted. I felt like a conquistador of the 1st world. I was one.
I came here to conquer, the place, the history (mine, yours and theirs), my heroism and your heart. Despite the unnatural vices and devices that are fathered by it, my heroism your heart, soul and conscience...
Et Encore, la ville lumiere shines upon me. Moi, mon âme et ma conscience. Neither fear nor courage saved us, this was Paris. Where we're all sinners. But it's ok, at that pointI was invulnerable, I had no Achilles heel, instead I offer a Flemish accent as I tried to whisper my lusts and incantations in French and in exchange of my pronunciation French charmed me with marmalade, Amsterdamer and tea.
Then I thought to myself "If this is wrong, why the hell does it feel so good?" Then I thought to myself "Should I, after Tea and cigarettes and the silence of the lambs of smoky days, have the strength to take the moment to it's climax?" "Yes, I should"
This is Paris. This is me and this is you, my favorite reader, having no idea what I'm talking about. Well, let me tell you my dearest, If you have made it this far, your strength and patience are legendary. Congrats.
Anyhow... This was Paris, this is me, that was the Eiffel Tower behind me and I remember thinking to myself...Putain! "What a hell of a world"
Rush. I felt like a rat from laboratory in that infernal maze called Charles De Gaulle Airport. Then again, we were rushing our heads in Spanish. Barajas. And all of a sudden Yo, José Gabriel (ahum... from the Tv Show) showed up out of nowhere with that capital's accent we all know him for. "Queubo churrito, como estás ala"... gave me a kiss on the cheek as if we had met ages ago and had more than this story as history of one another on our biographies. But it's ok. That's the point when I realized that anything could happen, acually I already knew that... That was just a proof of the egocentric law which deserved a toast.
I had some wine and then some more. A Glass, then another And... and one more. I had a toast on behave of my success, my God and yours. On behave of my Libido and my alter ego, the ones I always carry with me. I had a glass for my life and yours too. For my soul, your heart, my principles and the black billis that keeps our metaphysics warm.
O woke up in Madrid and before I knew it, my body was back in Rotterdam and my soul flying Royal. Royal Dutch. Before I knew it, I was living it up. High and dry Daydreaming of my tomorrows becoming yesterdays' history, my conquest to follow between a coffee spoon, a sigh of you and me and a conqueror's kiss.
As if I gave up the secret of my lips and the world gave up the secret of it's skeleton.

And I ate all the marshmellows. The Lucky ones... Lucky charms.

Now Playing: Complete Control (The Clash)- Burn (The Cure)- Someday After A While (Eric Clapton) Best Served With: Lucky, lucky strikes.

.:Lo wrote this at: 1:31 PM:.