MARKES- OVO JE SVE!!!

Gabrijel Garsija Markes, iz Makonda, nakon sto godina samoce, umro je u 87. godini zivota,

ispunjenog ljubavlju i kolerom. @iveo je strasno i do dna koleri~no!!! A opet, bio je prepunjen

melaholijom!!! ^udan spoj, paradoksalno, fantasti~no bi}e, KOLERI^NI MELANHOLIK!!!!!!

Mali Markez je zgranut jer vidi ~udesa oko sebe. Mladi Markez sredinom 40-tih, pod velovima adolescentnih maglu{tina.

Ostareli Markez. O~i poput sundjera upijaju sve, sa beskrajnom stra{}u, uz melanholi~ni osmeh. Stoga je bilo neumitno da njegovo poslednje delo bude "Memories of My Melancholy Whores"

Nastanak dobrih i ~uvenih brkova, koji su po~eli da se formiraju po uzoru a la Klerk Gebl, varijanta provinciskih

latinoameri~kih {valera. Kasnije }e ti brkovi evoluirati ka ikoni~kim anarhisti~ko-pikarskim brkovima Frenka Zape, da bi jo{ kasnije postali stameno-~eli~ni kao kod svih patrijarha levice! Ti brkovi su, kao kakav dragoceni kov~eg, skrivali u sebi do

zadnjeg daha, ostatke svih strasnih poljubaca i mirise svih voljenih `ena, svih strasno ispu{enih cigara i hedonisti~ku alhemiju

bezbrojne raznolikosti ku{anih jela sa vrtlogom ispijenih pi}a!

Voleo je `ute ru`e kao i jedan uzaludni slikar iz Melburna, koji se uporno trudi da napravi Nevidljiva dela koja se urezuju direktno u Tre}e Oko.

Markez sa svojom apsolutno privr`enom i po`tvovanom Mercedes i sa voljenim sinovima, sredinom 1960-tih u Barceloni,

nakon objave Sto godina samo}e. @ivot je radost, ushi}enje sa najbli`ima i sna`an zagrljaj ekstati~ke miline!

Mario Vargas Llosa, Jos Donoso e Gabriel Garca Mrquez con rispettive mogli a Barcellona, nei primi anni Settanta Veliko prijateljstvo izmedju Markesa i Ljose zavr{ilo se 1976.g. ispred filmske dvorane u Meksiko Sitiju! Postoje mnoge,

fantasti~ne verzije za{to je Ljosa tada udario svog starijeg prijatelja! Od tada je, izmedju njih, nastala i ostala do beskraja, ogromna prazninai daljina!

Sa svojim velikim prijateljem Huliom Kortasarem, od koga je dosta nau~io. Izmedju ostalog, Kortasar mu je pokazao da linija

sa dlana ruke, mo`e da ima ~udesan put i da se u isto vreme zav{ava na nekom sasvim drugom i neverovatnom mestu!

Sa Re`isom Debreom i Karlosom Fuentesom. Leva, leva, leva!!! Ubi{e nam kapitalisti~ki zlotvori ^ea!!! Leva, leva, leva...

[ala-komika, mrdalice-zezalice, uz vragolasti ~iki-miki pogled. "I write so that my friends will love me," Marquez quipped.

Jednom su pitali Pikasa kako se pravi dobra slika. On je odgovorio; Mudima. Markesov odgovor je in medias res!

I jo{ jednom za kraj, da se potvrdi su{tina stvari iz Makonda!!!

Vreme je, moj stari prijatelju, da se podje NA PUT, vreme je!!!

Dovidjenja, ~ekam vas u Mokondu!!!

Ne zaboravite da ponesete `utu ru`u sa sobom!!!

I woke in the small hours, not remembering where I was. The girl still slept in a fetal position, her back to me. I had a vague feeling that I had sensed her getting up in the dark and had heard water running in the bathroom, but it might have been a dream. This was something new for me. I was ignorant of the arts of seduction and had always chosen my brides for a night at random, more for their price than their charms, and we had made love without love, half-dressed most of the time and always in the dark so we could imagine ourselves as better than we were. That night I discovered the improbable pleasure of contemplating the body of a sleeping woman without the urgencies of desire or the obstacles of modesty. On the night of her birthday I sang the entire song to Delgadina, and I kissed her all over her body until I was breathless: her spine, vertebra by vertebra, down to her languid buttocks, the side with the mole, the side of her inexhaustible heart. As I kissed her the heat of her body increased, and it exhaled a wild, untamed fragrance. She responded with new vibrations along every inch of her skin, and on each one I found a distinctive heat, a unique taste, a different moan, and her entire body resonated inside with an arpeggio, and her nipples opened and flowered without being touched. I was beginning to fall asleep in the small hours when I heard something like the sound of multitudes in the sea and a panic in the trees that pierced my heart. I went to the bathroom and wrote on the mirror: _Delgadina, my love, the Christmas breezes have arrived.__ She looked into my eyes, gauged my reaction to what she had just told me, and said: So you go and find that poor creature right now even if what your jealousy tells you is true, no matter what, nobody can take away the dances you've already had. But one thing, no grandfather's romanticism. Wake her, fuck her brains out with that burro's cock the devil gave you as a reward for cowardice and stinginess. I'm serious, she concluded, speaking from the heart: Don't let yourself die without knowing the wonder of fucking with love.

"Memories of My Melancholy Whores"

ARHANGEL

NEBOYSHA SIMIC 18.04.2014.g. Melbourne