{28.3.15} elemental disaster

[fire] They had cut off Route 68, the artery between Valparaíso and Santiago, and the poet arrived an hour and a half late to his poetry reading, the post-reading discussion already in full swing. Incendio, solidaridad, our hearts go out to the people, on the lips of the gathered. They let him read anyways, because how…

{15.3.15} crying to the swing of the pacific

In Latin America, I learned to cry. Correction: In Latin America, I unlearned how to not cry. When I was younger, long ago in the distant past of 18 on down, I fought a lot with my dad. A natural reaction to what I often felt –anger, frustration, annoyance, self-righteousness, not being heard– is generally…

{11.3.15} time

I stopped seeing time as rigidly linear long ago. Maybe it was when my dad decided to read us Einstein’s Theory of Relativity before bed in Costa Rica. Or noticing how, as I got older, the years seemed to accelerate, a swiftly sneaking whiplash. Whatever the reason, my current conception of time is pretty analagous to that…

{7.3.15} falling in love

When you’re walking around in the city during the almost nighttime do you ever fall in love with the people passing you by? I do, sometimes. As our lives intersect for 3 interminable seconds on the bustling sidewalk, I gaze at them, and wonder at the infinity of their being. Who could they have known? What…