miércoles, 27 de noviembre de 2013


It was 7 a.m. after a bloody and sleepless night. There was a light and eerie mist that enveloped our drab scrubs as we silently strolled to Food for breakfast. The ambiance changed immediately once we stepped into the warm restaurant, the inviting smell of sizzling omelets and bacon beckoning us ever so tenderly. It was like any other morning, the 3 of us just trying to endure another 24 hours of life-recycling. That's what we did for a living. We recycled the lives of Dreamers and gave them to the lives of non-dreamers. Carlos ordered the Belgian waffles. In his knowing tone of voice, he said, "When I met the girl I knew I would end up with, I did the smart thing and ran away." At first, I thought to myself, how silly. Who knew we were still life-recycling even on our breaks?

martes, 26 de noviembre de 2013

Was ist Sprache?

Was ist Sprache? Musik ist die universelle Sprache. Du spricsht auf Franzosisch. Ich verstehe nichts. Du singst auf Franzosich. Ich verstehe alles. Was ist Sprache? Kunst ist die universelle Sprache. Du sprichst auf Spanisch. Ich verstehe nichts. Du machst Kunst. Ich verstehe alles. Was ist Sprache? Sprache ist Musik. Sprache ist Kunst.