“Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire.” –Roland Barthes I. Idiomas/languages: Origins Little scraps of paper with small hands’ handwriting in Spanish and English hung along theContinue reading “A bilingual existence”
Category Archives: Creative
Wander/lust [Draft 0]
Wander/lust was an experimental draft for a poem centered around a person as a place — a man as a cold desert, the Gobi in Mongolia. The piece has a lot of problems, it’s too abstract and not cohesive at all. There are some images that come through, but they are unrelated and the readerContinue reading “Wander/lust [Draft 0]”
“Parrillas”, aka grill-outs [Venezuelan style]
It’s fascinating how new experiences in a somewhat familiar yet relatively new environment can – when the circumstances are right – bring you right back to the core of your memories, your childhood. It’s beautiful how by simply narrating back your own story to someone you love, your mind can perfectly replay vivid memories thatContinue reading ““Parrillas”, aka grill-outs [Venezuelan style]”
Before the flight [Draft I]
“We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls.” ― Anaïs Nin There’s nothing like the thrill of international air travel. Nothing can get me as high or as intoxicated as the sheer prospect of knowing the exact date, time, gate, seat and final destination of the next series ofContinue reading “Before the flight [Draft I]”
(0212) Gran Caracas [draft I]
Thick, ashy smog; Cool breeze rustling through mango trees A symphony of honking and hydraulic hisses: buses Countless stray dogs bark hungry, scrounging bones from leftover tin box lunches The bent sound of brassy salsa brava escaping a zooming car incessant chatter, thousands of anonymous voices fill ears with desire, humor, and argument Taxi driverContinue reading “(0212) Gran Caracas [draft I]”
Attak
September 29, 2011 [12:22am] Little voices and pained groans were lulling down, as they intermingled into the evening; hushed distress in tiny individual worlds that struggle to comprehend basic reality, at least in the conventional sense. Decelerating energy, left behind in cluttered rec room with the sound of emptying bathtub drains and scattered tick-tock signalingContinue reading “Attak”
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