Not even depression is what it used to be

    Saying that all is a lie doesn’t necessarily make you a nihilist. On the contrary, there’s something empowering in being able to feel brave enough to put the finger on everything, seeing things as they present themselves, euphemistic versions of what is actually never clean enough, bold enough, ironed happy neat perfect enough….

This is a race. Let’s go fast, honey.

I am sick and eating only boiled vegetables. I am trying not to hear my neighbors’ abusive music. It hurts to listen to that kind of music, but I am the only one bleeding. So what was there left for me to do? Dress-up, put my red lipstick on ( I had some trouble finding…

Completely finally black and fake leather

This is a walk-through-Central-Park-with-no-fear look, the whole hobo-chic combo being scraped out of the bottom of my closet. I woke up one night this past week with fear jumping on my chest. I felt unsafe, I feel unsafe in this city whenever I am alone…and I imagined New York city, careless and tall and not…

You will meet a tall dark metallic stranger

I have passed from happy to worried in just a few days. This time next year I may be already blogging from the US. There is still so much to do and I start to understand why people get so stuck sometimes. I have watched Whatever works and I felt somehow even more convinced of…

I just wore John Lennon

This is a story about girl meets perfect pair of round sunglasses. Actually, the girl has always searched for the perfect pair of sunglasses and has always managed to actually find them. This time the sunglasses found her. The people from Firmoo Online Optical Store were kind enough to let me pick a pair of…

My Sharona, my Winona

Troy Dyer [On answering machine] : At the beep, please leave your name, number, and a brief justification for the ontological necessity of modern man’s existential dilemma, and we’ll get back to you. Maybe growing up doesn’t necessarily mean getting a job and forgetting about free Thursdays. Maybe it implies getting things done without permanently…

The feathers of the peacock

 I once wrote a story with this title. It seemed so appropiate at that time. It even had some drawings. I was in the seventh grade, my legs were even skinnier and my chin down to the ground. I was feeling sorry for myself everday and excusing myself for who I was. Everybody’s doing this…