Sometimes, an entire country’s truth fits into a single bus bench:
fractured dignity, the chill of the morning, and the quiet persistence of those who keep rolling with nowhere to stop.
Today I understood that the sky also belongs to the homeless, because the earth —at least this earth— seems to belong to them less and less.
We live in a planetary choreography where every tragedy hides behind another. From Gaza to Ukraine, from Washington to Beijing, global power turns suffering into spectacle, and words into a fragile border between justice and silence.
Yes, there are gangs. Yes, there is violence. Yes, there are crimes committed by people of Latino origin. But the dangerous falsehood lies in building a narrative around those exceptions to stigmatize an entire community.
“Gotié” was written as part of a literary challenge among friends during the early days of Book&Bilias. Set on the imagined plateau of Somiria, the story follows Cameo Trostky as he flees through somber villages while being hunted by the feared Sekret. Accused of murdering several men dressed as Saint Nicholas, his journey unfolds between mystery, memory, and vengeance in a place where Christmas and darkness strangely converge… —Continue reading the story →
Perhaps love will manage to defy the coldness of facts or, better yet, generate facts capable of bringing true happiness to the living beings who inhabit this minuscule speck of the universe.
Our lives are being swept into a stark and terrifying landscape: a world empty and soulless, governed by the stormy reign of facts.
Thirty-second Canto. Dante and Virgil watch as Count Ugolino frenetically devours Archbishop Rugiero’s head—two souls who suffer their condemnation in Antenora. Illustration by Gustave Doré.
As Gustave Flaubert once said, “The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe.” Perhaps that’s what keeps me going, even when I feel invisible to the world. Writing is my compass, helping me navigate through the uncertainties of existence, even as I wrestle with the doubt of whether my work will ever truly matter.
As I write, I can’t help but think that we, humans, are also frogs, birds, and lizards, crashing against tires and mirrors of our own illusions. Perhaps if we listened more to Aesop and his fables, we would learn to walk more carefully, with more purpose, leaving less destruction behind us.
“The fear of the unknown is the root of all evil, and when we don’t understand what is happening, we invent enemies. And we say they are dangerous.”
— José Saramago, Nobel Prize in Literature in 1998
We began our walk with Flaubert, and my main interest was to explore topics related to femicides. During our conversation, I mentioned the modern concept of ‘femicide,’ but Flaubert pointed out to me that in the time of ‘Madame Bovary,’ such a term did not exist.
Today I walk three miles, as usual. I head a few meters west and quickly turn south on Alhambra Circle. My goal is to skirt
Until this chronicle, the SAC did not exist. From today onward, it does. I went out for a walk with a purpose, my brow furrowed,
“Can’t You See…?” I Shouted at the Deaf.
In rhetorical terms, the title of this chronicle would qualify as an epiphonema — in this case, a paradoxical one.
On a solitary walk, somewhere between reflection and instinct, a disturbing scene unfolds: the death of two snakes. What begins as a simple observation soon becomes a meditation on cruelty, survival, and the strange echoes of Charles Bukowski’s world.
History sometimes resembles a slow, melancholic dance.
In this chronicle, the figure of Salvador Allende emerges not merely as a political leader but as a human paradox—a man who sought to reconcile socialism with democracy, conviction with restraint, ideology with doubt.
Between utopia and reality, his presidency became one of the most dramatic experiments in modern political history.
This reflection revisits that fragile balance and the tragic rhythm that ultimately defined his legacy… —Continue reading this chronicle →
During a quiet walk through three miles of reflection, a troubling realization begins to emerge: the resistance to change that once defined human caution seems to have vanished.
In an age of relentless technological acceleration, we no longer resist transformation — we simply absorb it. —Continue reading this chronicle →
Cryptocurrencies have inspired a new kind of devotion in the modern world. What appears to be a technological revolution may also reveal something deeper: a faith built on speculation, promise, and the dream of wealth. Through a conversation with a younger generation captivated by crypto, this chronicle reflects on how material ambition can transform markets into temples and investment into belief.
—Continue reading this chronicle →
Political decisions sometimes arrive when the damage has already learned how to live among us. After years of exile, displacement, and silent suffering, the announcement of a reopened border between Venezuela and Colombia may sound like a gesture of reconciliation. But for many who already crossed deserts, rivers, and uncertainty, the news arrives far too late.
—Continue reading this chronicle →
Exile does not always resemble the suffering we imagine. From a distance, one observes the political battles of the homeland with a mixture of memory, unease, and silence. This text is not a poem, nor does it claim to be one. It is simply an exercise in spontaneous reflection born during a walk — an attempt to recognize the paradox of living far away while others continue fighting the battles that once felt like our own.
—Continue reading this chronicle →
A 1999 interview with Chilean writer and literature professor Cristián Warnken sparked my curiosity about a mysterious number: 2666. That curiosity eventually led me to confront a monumental novel that many readers avoid because of its length, yet one that has become one of the most powerful landmarks of contemporary literature written in Spanish.
— Continue reading this chronicle →