Stranger Fiction

I'm inspired by what I call post-Catholic nihilism. It has to do with the loss of any standard of objectivity. The emotional anguish of the soul that insists on existing even when faith is lost, and all concepts of truth, or honor, or justice, or conscience, or love, or sincerity, have melted away

"I have been a stranger in a strange land" (Exodus 2:22)

It's all random, like life itself. Any structure or resemblance to existing meanings is purely accidental and the illusion of the characters, not necessarily a reflection of the view of this site

I can only write in my own style. I cannot care for formalities or for fashion

It's like reality, not the movies. People die, and in ways that don't make sense, and nobody's the hero

These are some things I wrote in sand, because I was alive, and because life was indifferent to it, and because I could. If I drop off the grid, this website will continue to exist for up to a year. Then it will be swallowed up by the waves of time, like everything else.

I think of my stories as machines, mobiles, that constantly morph into new shapes, depending on perspective

"Should you ask me where I come from, I must talk
with broken things,
with fairly painful utensils,
with great beasts turned to dust as often as not
& my afflicted heart."

~ Pablo Neruda

"Better than to curse the darkness, to light even the smallest candle" (The Buddha)

I don't write stories. I paint with words. I paint what I see. With blood, in sand.

Life is not supposed to make sense or reaffirm your convictions. It may impress you, overwhelm you, or even endear itself to you, so you feel it - the sting of knowing that you will miss it, and you love even the pain, because you know you go to a place where you cannot even miss a single thing