He looked at his hands in wonderas ifmind and body grew apart andreal-izedI can move my hands, my fingers eyes, he looked above and again as if mind and body grew apart he realized I can think; this might be my soul So why do I livehe asked himselfWhy do I live He wondered He
CategoryCreative writing
Skopje, I love you, but you’re bringing me down
Some people are attached to their hometown because some cities are able to elicit feelings of loyalty, belonging and nostalgia. These cities are like a flawed but ultimately charming protagonist with a past that is both happy and sad. So the residents of these places who play supporting roles in the collective city narrative end
The Insatiable Consumer
This article was inspired by Roland Barthes’ Mythologies. Think of a caged hamster running in his wheel for infinity, urged to run faster and faster to the point of exhaustion but prevented from ever reaching a final stop. The modern consumer is the 21st century embodiment of the caged hamster as he spins the wheel
Cabin Fever
Cabin Fever Months snowed inA man rinsing and repeatingA sweet song played overTea heated on the stove forUnkempt hair and foggy glassesAnd bastard brain bashed inHe left home fast; saysHe never recoveredWhen looking at me through a cameraI was not so sureAbout my presenceAnd what I should be trying forIt comes back to me when
Living Berlin – Pause
Serenity is hard to find in a city. Even the parks are often crowded with those seeking solace from the bustling pace or somewhere to pause. Only one place is ever truly calm: The cemeteries of Berlin possess a morbid serenity. Friedhof: a field of peace. The German captures a feeling the English “graveyard” misses,
The Colour of the Day
Again I see the leaves turn colour Vibrant yellows, reds, greens and browns Like burning embers they fall to the ground, Not yet snuffed Cloaking the grey street In their living-dying promise Of a barren tomorrow Reborn in springtime Again I wait for flowers to come, The birds to sing The sun to hail a
Living Berlin – In a Pankow Night
Late at night when the lights of the city reflect orange off the clouds, the wet pavement glistens like fire. The rain has washed away the impurities of city life and it is as though my passing there is the first passing on the virgin pavement. The silence on these nights is deafening. The clouds
Gristle and All
I close my eyes and pinch my nose closed as I take the sardine between my teeth. There is a wet squoshing sound, like a muddy boot tracking on carpet, as I grind the unfortunate specimen between my back molars, doing my best to guide its wet flesh away from my taste buds.