Sometimes fear appears in the smallest moments — a glance, a crossing of the street, an abandoned object on a sidewalk. From there, it can lead us to unsettling reflections on cruelty, power, and the fragile architecture of human trust. → Continue reading
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. → Continue reading
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. → Continue reading
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. → Continue reading
“Gotié” unfolds on an imagined plateau where escape is inevitable. Cameo Trostky moves through shadowed villages, pursued by the Sekret and accused of crimes shaped by ritual, memory, and violence. In Somiria, even Christmas takes on an unsettling form.
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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. → Continue reading
A childhood prayer returns as fear rises before new “earthly gods” who rule through arrogance and illusion. Between Orwell’s satire and Dante’s inferno, power reveals its true face: domination without moral ground. In a world sustained by the vulnerable, the greatest danger is not authority itself, but its abandonment of justice.
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Writing is both devotion and quiet futility—a calling that wounds as much as it sustains. Between solitary walks and unwritten worlds, the writer persists, not for comfort but for connection. To be heard, even briefly, is to exist. Perhaps being a writer is to embrace this beautiful contradiction—and remain, willingly, a perfect fool.
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On a walk among fallen toads, lizards, and birds, reality turns into fable. A lizard speaks, Aesop appears, and each scene reveals an unsettling truth: we live crashing into our own illusions. Perhaps we are no different from the creatures we ignore—only walking forward without ever learning.
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On a quiet walk, fear reveals itself not as instinct, but as design. Beyond personal anxiety, it emerges as a force shaping perception, dividing societies, and sustaining power. In a world governed by uncertainty, the real question is not how we fear, but who benefits from it—and whether we dare to imagine life beyond it.
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An imagined walk with Gustave Flaubert becomes a meditation on literature and the human condition. Through dialogue, past and present converge, revealing how illusion, desire, and social constraint continue to shape lives—especially those of women. In this encounter, fiction becomes a bridge to question what remains unresolved across time.
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A solitary walk turns into an imagined dialogue with Plato, where ancient philosophy meets the urgency of the present. Through wit and inquiry, questions of time, power, and human purpose unfold. In this encounter, walking becomes a method, and imagination a path toward understanding the enduring dilemmas of human existence.
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A restless walk gives birth to the SAC — Syndrome of the Awkward Commitment — a condition that mirrors the logic of the Fifth Amendment. In a world shaped by privilege and silence, evasion becomes a shield against engagement. This chronicle reflects on power, rejection, and the quiet dignity of those who are never invited to belong.
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A single paradoxical phrase—“Can’t you see?” shouted at the deaf—unfolds into a meditation on futility, perception, and social blindness. Through a dialogue with his alter ego, the narrator explores how language exposes the fractures between knowing and ignoring. In a world saturated with voices, the real question remains: who is actually listening?
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A quiet walk alongside Bukowski is abruptly shattered by the death of two snakes, turning a moment of stillness into a meditation on fragility and moral decay. What begins as observation becomes allegory, where instinct, fear, and violence reveal unsettling parallels between nature and human conduct, exposing the quiet brutality that underlies modern life.
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History, at times, resembles a slow, melancholic tango.
In this chronicle, Salvador Allende emerges as a human paradox: a man who sought to reconcile socialism and democracy, conviction and uncertainty.
Between utopia and reality, his presidency reveals a fragile balance shaped by tragedy.
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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
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 →