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Very few countries recognise an individual's right to drink their self to death... America is possibly the only one left... this is why it feels like a home to me.

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walk away

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  One sentence to replace all happiness: I miss the connection we had before you disappeared. We woke up that one Saturday morning and you said, ‘I feel like getting drunk.’ I suggested that you have a beer while I make breakfast. So, in that bright early morning Madrid sunshine, we had breakfast and got drunk. We laughed and joked, listened to music, kissed, had sex, watched BBC’s Sherlock Holmes.  It’s the crazy moments that I remember. The trip to Casablanca, the trip to London, the cocktail afternoons in Madrid during which we’d take hilarious selfies of ourselves with some character in the background… we’d try to create an optical illusion to make it look like it was a tiny person sitting between and we were putting a finger on their head. In the end, you said you wanted to party, not be in love.  I respected your honesty, and watched you walk away.  
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french night

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Salt Lake City: Part I

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A page, a palimpsest, a text written again and again over the previous text. The story is old and grows out of context as the author ages. It’s one of disappearance. Disappearance of youth and of love. I spend my minutes watching videos of how to configure a thermostat. The rest is all about the end… how every country is ending, the world is ending, how we will all die in chains in a dystopian nightmare. This is what they tell us.   In the meantime, old photos are like a haunting portrait from the Picture of Dorian Gray but, in real life, it is in reverse, of course, the portrait remains the same as we grow older, lose our youth and, if we ever had it, beauty.                     I took a bus out to the Natural History Museum at the foot of the mountains in Salt Lake City, Utah. I accidentally got off the bus too early and had a fair distance to walk in the heat and direct sun. Nevertheless, ...
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