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Words Are Like Water
I hold great affection for this version of myself: the writer capable of convincing others through words, yet incapable of convincing himself.
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Something About the Sea, Time, and Space
El mar, entonces, para mí existía solo en la imaginación. En casa teníamos un librero negro que apenas se sostenía sobre unas patitas que estaban siempre a punto de vencerse y que debíamos calzar con dobladillos de papel de revista. Le llamábamos “el librerito”. Sobre él, como en muchas casas de México, una concha de…
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Where to look for oneself?
It was no longer enough to step on the ground and drag the day along, to hang it at the end of a street fading into dusk in the middle of a city where nothing ever seemed to happen, because so little ever came back.
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Faith
I believe in the fertilized seed that is both origin and destiny. In the announced agony that has a name and that has an end.
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Fall: fantasy and reality
A couple of days ago, while driving home, I thought that, for me, reality hit me for the first time when my father died. At that moment, on the ground of life, I didn't know what to do. Writing, then, couldn't protect me.
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Time
It comes and shouts at me, because that's the way the weather is. It appears, immersed in the asymmetrical movement that happens between the clouds of summer, of this and any other summer.
