Excerpt from letter, 19 May 2020

Some wicked force took hold of me on Sunday which possessed me to wake up at 5 am. I don’t mean that I happened to wake up at 5 am. I consciously set out to wake up at 5 am, having only slept 4 hours. I really can’t explain why. Once awake, staring at my ceiling, I asked myself “Well, what now?”. So I went for a walk. Everything is so still at 5 am. Except for the occasional fox which stared at me with mild annoyance, as if to say “It isn’t your time yet, human. This is our time”.

February 2017

I'm not alone 'cause the TV's on

It wasn’t often that I would see my paternal grandfather. He lived across the Atlantic and would only come to Mexico once a year to visit us. I didn’t speak much to him, a language barrier and my timid temperament getting in the way. It’s not surprising I didn’t know much about him, but I do remember he would always spend a long time watching the news on his own whenever he visited. On one of many such occasions, he sat while footage of men lifting and rolling the wing of a downed aircraft played repeatedly on screen. I didn’t know what was happening or what it meant, I was only 8 years old. Much later I would wonder why a man who was reminded of war anytime he saw his scarred reflection would then go on to spend so much time watching it on TV.

Renaissance

Photo by Henrik Dønnestad

Behemoth

The people are the heroes now
Behemoth pulls the peasant’s plough
When we look up, the fields are white
With harvest in the morning light
And mountain ranges one by one
Rise red beneath the harvest moon

Sierpinski

Photo by Nicolas Hippert

Scribble

Getting a fresh new notebook was a recurring pleasure during my childhood. Unfortunately, the nicer the notebook the less likely that I would use it. Nothing I could come up with felt good enough to be written or drawn in its pages. Had I kept them all, I’m sure someone could estimate my age based on how high the pile of pristine stationary would stand.

First post

This is the first post.