Leave exile early, cover six hundred miles in one morning hour. Meet your banished brother, converse and feel. Point your finger at the world. Scream. Shout. Laugh in the face of the absurd. Elope once more, speed across mountains and plains. Eight hundred kilometers, another hour. Home.

So small is the world, so close are your brethren, and so affectionate their souls. Heart-warming. Warm, warm, warm.

Cold places

As you reach for the black keys one last time, you feel the energy still seeping through the tips of your fingers. You can now crawl back inside your cocoon. Your heart feels how cold your citadel really was; it starts shining its sweet emotions. They vanquish the majestic wall; behind it lies your spirit, glowing, softly. You were close to burning out. The tasks ahead disappear into the cozy white padding of your heart.  You’ve missed yourself so much…

A few minutes

She sighs and lets the drop gently roll down her lips. She leans back on the bed and closes her eyes, she wants to be free. She wonders through the images of him and her, and smiles when she feels loneliness slowly seeping into her emotions. This old friend makes her feel alive. Shallow, vague melancholy appears and vanishes softly, she becomes aware of her lust for life, she softly goes through the corners of her soul, embracing emotions new and old, she feels pure happiness as she lets her feelings remind her of who she is. With a light heart she bites her lips and smiles.

Terre des Hommes

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry wrote in the beginning of his book, Terre des Hommes

J’ai toujours, devant les yeux, l’image de ma première nuit de vol en Argentine, une nuit sombre où scintillaient seules, comme des étoiles, les rares lumières éparses dans la plaine.

Chacune signalait, dans cet océan de ténèbres, le miracle d’une conscience. Dans ce foyer, on lisait, on réfléchissait, on poursuivait des confidences. Dans cet autre, peut-être, on cherchait à sonder l’espace, on s’usait en calculs sur la nébuleuse d’Andromède. Là on aimait. De loin en loin luisaient ces feux dans la campagne qui réclamaient leur nourriture. Jusqu’aux plus discrets, celui du poète, de l’instituteur, du charpentier. Mais parmi ces étoiles vivantes, combien de fenêtres fermées, combien d’étoiles éteintes, combien d’hommes endormis…

Il faut bien tenter de se rejoindre. Il faut bien essayer de communiquer avec quelques-uns de ces feux qui brûlent de loin en loin dans la campagne.

It is cold and damp here, and the night has taken over. The darkness descends for so many hours that it sometimes feels it were eternal. Forever secluded in my tower, I infer about my being, with a hellish glare in my eyes so few have witnessed. I madly wave my hands and run up to the walls, staring at them in disbelief. I draw circles on them and then again in the air, I pray and hope not to lose that flowing feeling of continuity and eternal change.

But I will not. There is only love here. There will be no end.


All is well. The long hours of dealing with machines have not taken their toll. I suspect they will never will, because I have managed to find a solid refuge in the meaningful words before me, be they of foulness or beauty. The world is  going its proven way, blindly and absurdly drifting amongst the stars. Candidly and gently, love permeates through time and space; the presence of love is only felt by a religious few, who believe not in a god, but in themselves and in their brethren.

Because everything is energy, and energy is you, and me.

Make it last

You have done your chores, you have brushed your teeth, and you have said good night to everyone. You come back to your room, close the door behind you, and as you are about to turn off the light, you hesitate.

You look at the empty space around you. And then you start staring. Everything is unchanged. What have you done today?

You feel a stream of cold emptiness slowly flowing through your mind. This is the point where people start listing reasons – invariably making themselves think they are not failures. People are not good at failing, you know. When people fall, they fall miserably.

But you do not steer your mind toward anything. You do not feel compelled to remember the day’s successes. You prefer to pause for a while, because this limbo suits you. Are you out of your mind?

You do it because the happiness comes by itself. Make it last, baby.


The freezing water hits your skin each and every single morning. Turbulence is injected into your blunt state of mind. The unease and pain make room for numbness as you cool down. You gasp for air as you point the water jet towards your body one last time. You are alive.

Remember. Rage. Infer.

Complain about the respect you are not getting from them. Make sure you scream out loud, and then prepare your argument; hope they crumble. They have been like this forever; you know they will not change. You can only wait. You cannot remove yourself yet. Do your homework. Replay the scenario in your head, figure out what happened. Make sure you cover everything. Play your game. Say what you feel. Will they understand? Be patient.

A heart of gold

Late at night, I always look for that corner. It is the one that makes my heart feel warm. It is the niche where I am always reminded I am not the only one who feels the way I feel. Have I found such home? Can there be one such abode? I hear back from so many people who love me … they inspire me to build everything by myself.

I try to savor the feeling, be it happiness or grief. I want my routine permeated by sentiments, because regardless of their nature, they make me feel alive. My strive for identity is showing results – I invariably smile when someone classifies me. Is it because I feel someone paid attention? Is it because no matter what they say, I will go my way? Is it both?

I see myself capable of all emotions, from agony to love. I faithfully and honestly express them … here. This is why I feel the place I am looking for is no other than this page. Here, I see myself as I was. Here, I see what I have become. Here, the process of being is time-dependent. Here, the process of being makes my soul feel warm.


A bottle of whiskey

And a new set of lies.

Time flies, and the distant past seems like yesterday. I have a lot on my plate, and I am desperately looking for some time to be myself. I paradoxically love what I am doing … but … sometimes, too much is too much. I am forced to abide, and work on.

Because I have so little time, I see myself putting feeling into everything I do – doing the dishes, walking home, or simulating some random thermodynamic process. I am slowly but surely mixing my emotions and my actions, because I am forced to; my life outside my studies is not getting the time, ergo, the attention it deserves. I do not know what the final outcome will be – but I can tell you that for now, I am loving the ride.

Getting so little sleep makes weeks turn into long, never-ending days. I was walking by the Hilton five minutes ago, with my father – no, wait, that was last Saturday. What have I accomplished in the interim? Could I have done more? Have I grokked everything yet? I am only an egg…

I am not letting the first woman back into my life. The second one left.  The third…there will not be a third one for now. Closing your eyes and moving forward is sometimes tricky. The perfect combination of fatigue, introspection and insanity is needed. I’ll do my best, baby.