Inside of him were lightning and thunderbolts, and his eyes reflected the whirlpools of rage rampaging through his blood. Perhaps you’ve only seen the time when he was the calm of the storm, or perhaps you thought you could take him. But how wrong you were. I cried every day for how wrong you were. There was only one sunny day in your life. It was when you first wore white lace and white gloves, freshly picked peonies held in your hands. You’ve always hated white, because once it was stained, all they would ever see would be that blotch … Continue reading Him

By Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Longing…

The mediocre man never says empty speeches, he repeats himself forever. His admiration is imprudent, his enthusiasms are fleeting. He only exclaims: “I had anticipated it”, or “I have read about it on books.” He would never say at the break of dawn of wise men still ignored: ‘here is the glory and the future, this person knows more than me.’ The mediocre man may even have talent, but intuition is sealed. He can learn, but not predict or share his knowledge, sometimes he admits some ideas but it does not follow in his latest applications on life, the lessons … Continue reading The Mediocre Man

People are just people, no matter where they come from or where they go! Sometimes it is very difficult to extract thoughts, build emotions or analyze people’s dreams into a reality. People are a rare material, difficult to describe with only simple words. Months ago, I was walking around the shore (boardwalk) — Wildwood — watching hundreds of people, talking and admiring them as mere bystanders. They glowed with stranger looks, at least for me, a foreigner among such a diverse culture. I tried with my vain philosophy to compose real characters, distil stories, and absorb human subjects at its … Continue reading People…

What do we forget when we remember that stories are left untold? What do we think each year, day, week, month…? Millions don’t come home from war. Another hundred million who lived to bear its scar, fear, despair… What they are dying for, and we forget. How stupid we are! The hurricane winds of war have hurled them as far away as Mars, and they can never go back home again, not really, there is no place where they are missed. After their terrifying — deadly dance with death, their old world of babies, backyards, dolls, magic fairy tales and … Continue reading Children and Wars…

What I think most people might not realize is that quite often, I was writing to myself. If I was feeling heart broken, or depressed, I’d say the things I wish people would say to me. I think really good art is a map away from an emotion or a map to an emotion and that creating art, allows that emotion to leave the body of the artist, and so this was an incredibly healthy project for quite a while. I got a lot of stuff out of my system. Human material. Eventually, I started needing to recreate the sadness … Continue reading My thoughts about writing…

If I could use a literary phrase to describe us, it would be Nabokov’s “rust and stardust”. Because darling, you are the romance in life, stardust. You dream, you fly, you aspire for something out of the conventional. I want a 9 to 5 job that would give me the opportunity to take holidays every year and read a good book during the weekend. It’s always about more with you; greed was your greatest sin; you were so greedy in drawing out every moment in this life of ours, sucking hungrily upon it like a child on its mother’s teat. … Continue reading To my creator …

I feel young today. Standing on the coffee table to feel taller, gazing at nothingness with crooked limbs and a blank expression; the more absent-eyed the more rampant the thoughts. I feel naive. Silly and solitary and full of ridiculous ideas. I feel maternal. Unable to shake the image of a 12-year-old girl picking herself apart in the bathroom mirror before she returns to her friends, stiff and tense. I feel nostalgic leafing through pages to find the same window I looked out of all those years ago, to see the same headlights eyes by, to hear the same piano … Continue reading Feeling young…

I do not like goodbyes, I think all of them may shorten life by half; they pour on our faces tears and takes away hugs from those who we love. It looks like the world ends there, in between heartbreaks and departures. No, I hate goodbyes because when I say goodbye I fall apart, an endless collapse. Saying goodbye to someone is simply to give our back to them, turn away and let them there by themselves, the end of all the moments, joys and complicity, a frozen time. Saying that to those who made me great, mute me and … Continue reading The art of saying goodbye II