I am inactive.
It’s not a philosophical stance,
it’s the couch
that adopted me.
From here I watch life go by
the way home-renovation shows are watched:
with moderate interest
and zero intention of participating.
The dinosaur decided to tidy up the house.
Tidy up, in his language,
means moving everything around
to prove that chaos still works.
Emptying drawers,
rearranging,
and leaving evidence
that he was here
like a performance without an audience.
I was born on a Sunday.
I don’t say it as an astrological fact,
but as an excuse.
Sundays have permission
to do nothing
without structural guilt.
My dog’s name is Dominga.
Not because I knew anything about destiny,
nor because I planned a perfectly rounded narrative.
I met her afterward.
It was a coincidence,
like almost everything important.
Being inactive is discovering
that the world doesn’t collapse
if I don’t hold it up.
That the house survives the dinosaur.
That the couch is also a point of view.
That not producing
is not disappearing.
From here,
with one leg folded and the other negotiating,
I think that maybe activity
is overrated
and that observing
also counts as being alive.
The couch demands nothing from me.
Neither do I.
And for today,
that is enough.
Photography by Cristóbal Coello Robles // Dev/Scan at Fotograma Film Lab
