Being the Writer is a pain in the ass. Because the Poet, as Bukowski beautifully portrayed in many of his stories, survives and escapes from madness through the Poem. He survived with the Poem himself. And the booze. But the Writer, well, he is a different character. He’s not necessarily a suicidal punk, nor does…
Read moreI step off the train. Roll up my earphones and put the Music away. Want to listen to the word around me. Like I cared. I wish I gave a fuck. I just don’t. I would like to feel what others feel. But giving a fuck seems like quite an effort. Quite an effort to…
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Las clases aún no comenzaban. Era temprano en la mañana. Eduardo tenía 17 años y estaba a pocos meses de terminar la secundaria. No era popular. No tenía ni una puta idea de qué hacer con su vida. Y ahí estaba, solo, sentado en su puesto. Tenso. Un poco deprimido. Ansioso. En ese momento, los…
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She said that men only see black or white. That things are either one or the other, and nothing else. Very binary. I told her that I am not a regular man. That I’m different. “I can see black and white, and the whole grayscale in between.” If you are not new to this blog,…
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Was there anything different that day? Something special that made me be aware of the turning point I would experience in my life? I just checked my online tracks. And my memory, of course. There was nothing. That day was like any other ordinary day. But it wasn’t, in the end. I am always very…
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