It was heartbreaking to be there. “The walls are closing in. I’m completely alone in this house, all the time,” my grandma said; her brown indigenous skin turned light for the lack of sun. It was my annual visit to Santiago de Chile, and I was back to her place. And in my wondering, gloomy…
Read moreWords won’t come out. The blinking black line on the empty page seems like a passage to another, darker dimension. The wind blows outside, the clouds move and block out the sun. Summer’s gone. If you close your eyes, you can hear the ocean. But it isn’t. Just the muffled sound of cars passing by…
Read moreConsumed by consumerism, starving to death while drinking your last Coke. The world is going to the gutter and we celebrate it like there is no tomorrow. For there’s none. Zero. ¿Comprendes? Enter the end of the day. Listen to some generic, watered down folk indie songs on Spotify, as you hide from the sun…
Read moreWoke up exhausted, the summer sun piercing trough my thin curtains in the early morning. Sunday. Another day in the excruciating anxiety-packed life of The Writer. Fun. Fun. Fun. I can’t complain about loneliness or these creeping feelings of abandonment. They all left me, yes. Though in hindsight, most of them could have been more…
Read moreMe he tomado el Lunes libre, hastiado de un trabajo que no pensé seguiría haciendo a mis 35. El sol brilla sobre Copenhague, 22 grados quizás. O 23, sin viento. Si mi ánimo se guiara por la temperatura, quizás esta ansiedad que me carcome no me perseguiría por todos lados. Quizás. Si siguiera viviendo en…
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