What am I to do with all this ‘80s music, for it rushes me into an expansive golfo mistico of thought? I see us flying over dirt roads, fast as lightning, the pebbles crushing under the merciless gyrating wheels. And the dry dust arises, it always arises. Left and right sprawling fields and woods give…

Anhelo mi pelo largo; el sol derritiéndose sobre mi piel a siete mil pies de altura del nivel del mar. Y las nubes sobre las lomas, piruetas solares. Sobre todo las altibajas. Recuerdo los brincos de sinceridad que hacía en el trampolín que era mi cama. En ella podía dormir un tirón — una eternidad…

It poured mercilessly yesterday. I think my shoes might have been ruined, I hope not; they are now drying. As I made my way to Dupont Circle, firmly attached to my umbrella’s handle — it had become an extension of my-self, unbending, unrelenting to the whims of the rapacious and voracious wind — I chanced…

The Iliad is the basic unit perforce of Western thought, as the cell is to life. From it has sprung what we term the ‘West’ (being in Europe, I realize now more so than before how ambiguous the term is; it begs a discussion but not now). The Achaeans, also referred to by other names…

While studying the Classics, I was keenly interested in that moment when man renounced reason and aquiesced to the mysticism of the Christian religio. Of course, there was not a pivotal point when the transition occurred, no Mount Vesivus erupting and with it bringing the desemation of a Pompeii, it is never like that. No,…

Society is layer upon layer of fiction. Man is the eternal Dædelus, artful artifice that continuously produces something new out of an ancient and malleable substance. As the paint begins to chip, a new layer is added forcefully, and thus continues the illusion. And sometimes the mighty edifice crumbles; simply turns to dust, smitten by…

“Glup! Glup! Glup!” says the rain falling upon the roof. It rained yesterday as it rains to-day and the morrow; and I have no doubt it rained the day before yesterday. Perhaps I am imagining the pouring rain. Sometimes I wonder about my existence; it seems mere fantasy. I surmise: cogito ergo sum. Consequently, were…

There is something peculiar if not odd about careening along a motor-way — in a foreign country — obscured by the penetrable darkness of night; Dawn of the rosy nose not having reached the zenith, lazily pressing herself unto the horizon. It is reminiscent of every other time I have dragged myself out of bed…

¿A qué edad aprendes a ser feliz? a no pensar en morir – tomar la vida en tus propias manos sólo para darle un fin. Es una prisión de paredes blancas y estériles penetradas por luz; creo haber muerto — estoy en el infierno del aburrimiento e insipidez. Cada día, la vida se vuelve más…

I grew up in Northern California. I went to university for a while in New Mexico at a small liberal arts college. I learnt about Plato and Aristotle, Homer and Thucydides, Euclid and Ptolemy, while indulging on Nietzsche and Dostoevsky secretly. Then I lost my mind. No, I did not see any pink triangles! I…