THINGS: 28 October 2011
THINGS: walking for hours under a hooded sky, upon damp cobblestones, learning, adapting, doubt, nervousness, always finding something to worry about, beautiful histories not my own, desire, satisfaction, wandering, appearances as deceptive, memories, the future as impossible to perceive, snacking,…
The hunter, the killer: Analizando a la Chiqi: 02 de septiembre de 2015
The hunter. The killer. A veces una princesa, a sloth, someone that’s going to give me a tart reply in a cheeky tone (pun intended, obvio, po). Los cinco sentidos de la Chiqi son realmente, como, veinte. Ella esperó hasta…
That weird pleasure: 03 de agosto de 2015
What’s with that weird pleasure one finds in doing something she knows she shouldn’t do? Like smoking cigarettes or eating a fuck-ton of carbs? Yesterday was Sunday and everyone and her fucking grandmother and dog and 20 kids came to…
Somehow it always comes in the night: 26 de febrero de 2015
I knew I’d win the psychological war. Somehow it always comes in the night. The sky is gray and the tip of this microfiber pen is sexy and fresh. There are black soaring pinpricks way high up: birds in the…
Mi aniversario de un año y un mes en Sudamérica: 19 de enero de 2015
Hoy es mi aniversario de un año y un mes en Sudamérica. La gente acá en el hostel, los viajeros, siempre me preguntan, “¿Por cuánto tiempo te vas a quedar en Córdoba?” Y no tengo ninguna idea de qué debo…
Self-absorbed abstractions: 01 de septiembre de 2013
I kept wanting to completely let go and conquer that self-consciousness, but I couldn’t. It was a physical thing, attached and palpable and squishy and I couldn’t get rid of it. I don’t have that with Kaia, like I do…
What do you do?: 22 de enero de 2015
A question I would like to ask all young people is “What do you do when you like someone?” What do you do, specifically? Do you ask them a question about their past, or something more surface level first? Or…
“Psicodelianarkocorrida” by Xuan Pablo Gonzalez: 18 de junio de 2015
Vino tinto, we sit at a tiny round dinner table talking. I write, sip, read excerpts from a book called “Psicodelianarkocorrida” by Xuan Pablo Gonzalez. I tune out, drift back in, pay attention to what’s being said. I rarely say…