The unlikely ones: Time
I’ve never liked watches: Those illusory attempts at time control. We can see the sands of time slip through our fingers for a while but we can never hold time in our hands. We just have to let go of… Continue Reading
Short stories
I’ve never liked watches: Those illusory attempts at time control. We can see the sands of time slip through our fingers for a while but we can never hold time in our hands. We just have to let go of… Continue Reading
It was hopeless. He needed to stop every time he heard a bandoneon being played. He was hopeless but so was she. She held a charm over dogs. Every time she passed by a dog, it would inevitably follow her… Continue Reading
“Gdzie one, kurwa, są ?” burknął otwierając wszystkie szuflady swojego biurka w salonie. Ciągle nieuważnie zostawiał klucze na pierwszym miejscu, które znalazł, dlatego musiał ich szukać w dziwnych miejscach, takich jak na umywalka, blat kuchenny, czy nawet lodówka. Nie wiedział,… Continue Reading
Szedłem pewnego popołudnia, jak zwykle, by zabić czas, dopóki moja żona nie wróci do domu na obiad. Continue Reading
“Where the fuck are they?” he grumbled while he opened all the drawers of his living room desk. He would absentmindedly leave his keys on the first place he found and therefore he needed to look for them in odd… Continue Reading
Tragedy rarely comes unannounced but it flows to our heart in small sporadic doses. We always try to arbitrarily attribute the quality of tragic to a single event, such as a Tsunami or a Holocaust, but even these events are… Continue Reading
You can’t get inspiration from sadness; it’s not possible. Your actual inspiration comes from the hope of joy that this sadness triggers. And joy is easier to achieve when you’re sad than when you’re in a limbo of satisfaction. The… Continue Reading
He asked her to come in. She’d walked all the way to his flat under the rain and the wind had broken her umbrella half way through. Her name was Melisa. She’d seen Brian perform an impromptu poem in a… Continue Reading
Emi se estaba preparando para dormir, aunque no tenía sueño. En lo de sus abuelos, la hora de acostarse era las diez de la noche, lo cual contrastaba con la hora de dormir en su casa, alrededor de la medianoche.… Continue Reading
It’s true, I could write anything I want here. I could tell you about short-sighted kids who suddenly discover they have the ability to walk on walls of fly on brooms. But then it would be only fiction. The only… Continue Reading