The limbo of things

Things, some things, inhabit a space before disappearing forever, almost always engulfed in shadows. A space in which things cram up together and try to hide from sight as if they knew it is the last stage of life, getting mixed with cobwebs or taking the shape of a curious shade.

Before dying, things, some things, go to limbo, which is the storage room.

Find the original here.

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Trying out paths

To go back. To go back to see you. To go back to dream you. Hundreds of paths open up each and every instant right before me and I don’t know which one will finally take me back. I choose them blindly, trusting my luck; and trusting that dark chance grants me its boon. I close my eyes and start stepping through the ever changing path. I walk wearily, just in case a sign arises, just in case that casual encounter that changed my life forever happens again. Original version here .

Non-stop

Any day now he’ll do it, I’m sure of it. He’ll wake up like always, he’ll get dressed, have that horrible coffee in that horrible bar, sit at his workplace and listen to everything he doesn’t care about: how smart one’s sons are, how big another’s bed is and how sad is the life of the guy from the table at the end of the office; after that, he’ll balance budgets, prepare payrolls infinitely higher than his own, try to take a deep breath and realize that inside there it is impossible to get another gulp of air; he’ll look at the door and he’ll bite his lip anxiously, get up and walk slowly to the exit and he’ll find the way there endless, but he’ll get out, get out to the street and feel renovated, clean, complete, he’ll start then to roam aimlessly, without any hurry, and each step will be a new and exciting decision. Find the original here .

The belly dancer

The venue was filled with smoke. Hundreds of lost stares focused on her. Upon a small and simple stage she rhythmically moved her hips. The jewels hanging from her light clothes sounded in time with the music and so did her belly button with the timpani. Today I don’t even know if I dreamt it or lived it, perhaps both. I just know that, somewhere in Agadir, a woman has my pupils tattooed on her belly. Find the original here .

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