2016-09-12Comments are off for this post.



Those unbearable moments of someone disappearing, or worse, someone disapproving of appearing. It's a different kind of sadness. There's a certain detachment from whatever one is surrounded with when her body is somewhere else but still permeating every fiber of your being because moments ago you talked, laughed, missed. But if you go to sleep without her voice in your head, well, what is there to rest from when nobody echoes in the chambers of your mind? Instead, details keep you awake: the wind blowing, the rain dropping, the Imam, suddenly, calling.

2016-07-16Comments are off for this post.

Jeremy Scahill: The Assassination Complex


Published by Serpent's Tail

2016-07-08Comments are off for this post.

David Graeber: The Utopia of Rules


Published by Melville House

2016-07-05Comments are off for this post.

What is missing


Being reminded of something, to me, only occurs when you are seeing something that is not part of what you are remembering. Otherwise, one would only call into conscious what was always connected to that very object. Seeing myself in this picture, I remember the smell of caustic acetone in that room, I remember my eyes falling shut and my friend complaining about skin burning. But the more I try to forget I was there, I see a room and not much else and I am failing to remind myself of anything but what is missing.

2016-06-19Comments are off for this post.

Thomas Bernhard: Das Kalkwerk


Publiziert von Suhrkamp

2016-05-12Comments are off for this post.



I met Mickey Mouse in a reception hall in Paris. He was very sweet. I stared at him, waiting for his squeaky voice to speak to me, for his animal body to embrace my small human frame. But he just took me into his arms while his face appeared to freeze. And I guess I took the bait as the trap seized what's been the mouse all along.

2016-05-04Comments are off for this post.

Yasushi Inoue: Das Jagdgewehr


Publiziert von Suhrkamp

2016-05-02Comments are off for this post.

David Grossman: Eine Frau flieht vor einer Nachricht


Publiziert von Hanser

2016-03-25Comments are off for this post.

To tell a joke

There was so much quietness. Better: noiselessness. The opposite of clamor, so many voices speaking soundlessly to the beautiful brashness of crockery, mother's eyes pointing towards bread, hands dashing across the table. I can breathe easily, I can see myself saying, I can easily breathe. And then, someone leans back into the chair, let me tell you a joke, and then he would tell a joke, and the laughter, oh my, what a glorious mess, silencing the dishes and not much else. 

2016-03-24Comments are off for this post.

Slowly Breaking


My father used to call me out when I was losing empathy. I can’t sleep at night, you know? We got some food and we were sitting in the car and he stared through the window pane and he could not look at me, for he knew I was drunk and slowly breaking. And when he finally asked how I was feeling, I fell into pieces, poisoned, scattered around for him to pick up.