His past rips away from his future at the same time that his ligaments ripped away from his bones.
We cry, scream, love one another in hospital rooms. Old men offer chocolate bars and we offer love; it is the only thing we have aside from some Genovese sugar candies. Teletubbies in body casts stuff cellphones cigarettes lighters between their first and second skins. The pitch of our laughter is one between hope and despair; but we are much too stubborn, and so we raise the pitch until it becomes comical.
The day we are free we are imprisoned again in the web of bureaucracy. Declarations stamps tickets tickets tickets. Cancer feeds on breasts but not hearts. Frustration eats souls and love feeds. But is it feeding the frustration or the soul-eating?
“Writing is about explaining. What is going in your head when we don’t talk?” he asks.
“I am trying to make sense of what happened while I was talking…” I answer.
People climbed up in the night like green trees
They were hanging from the night like green leaves
Buzzing like queen bees
Alexander grew up in Berlin. I met him in Toronto just when I was getting ready to leave the city and move to Barcelona. I found it fascinating to discover the reasonse why someone would choose Toronto as their city at the same time when I was deciding I no longer considered it my city.
Most little girls grow up learning that for one day in her life, she will be a princess. Everyone’s eyes will be on her, as she will be the most beautiful one of all. After this day, her life will be transformed: the caterpillar will become the butterfly! She believes this dream with all her heart, and she shares it with her friends…sometimes even her friends that happen to be boys. The little girl’s dream of being a bride is sometimes dreamed of by boys as well.
After all, it’s just a costume, isn’t it?
(gracias a Pablo por su creatividad)
It has been a long time since I’ve been on a roadtrip. And I love roadtrips. It was my first time in Euskadi (Basque Country) and so…I decided not to be weighed down by the ability to take 1234476 photos of all the beautiful things that caught my eye. So I took my Dad’s old Praktica that was brought back to life by an old man in Sarajevo after being dead for the last 20 years. I only took one roll film with me. So I could only stop and record 24 moments. The rest of the moments, I would have to live instead.