inner life
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Why I write
A simple phrase is enough to shake an inner life: "Why do I write?" A certainty takes shape, paradoxical and burning: writing is pointless, and perhaps that's precisely why we write. Writing becomes a place of unification, even to the point of making oneself a nation. "Why do I write?" This phrase, to which I am asked to respond, almost innocuous… Continue reading
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The froth of lives
Can we still find refuge in our inner lives, rebel against this world that loves nothing but the external and its procession of emotions pushed to their extreme, and that distorts lives to make them all similar and ghostly? Continue reading
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The gold digger
One day, his only desire, he fulfilled it effortlessly each day. He would get up and mentally count the time it took him to do it. He counted the time as if he controlled it even as it slipped away. He knew his age, but he stubbornly refused to be caught off guard by its effects. He sought his… Continue reading