Assorted texts


My Husband

Today is Friday. Every day since Monday my husband, when he comes back from work, remains sitting in his car, parked in front of our house. He doesn’t move at all. He just sits there, and only sometimes does he bend his neck and touch the edge of steering wheel with his forehead.


It is not easy to be a firefly, she whispered to the napkin. Then her shoulders began to shake with sobs, and the barman had to call a cab to take her home. He gave her a sack of peanuts for the road, and while she licked the salt from the big nuts and stared at the shimmering neon lights, Eva promised herself that she would go back and start over again.




Spinoza, of course, thought that dreams were absurd superstition born of fear. Edgar Allan Poe claimed that everything we see is just a dream dreamed within another dream. Many centuries before that, Chuang Tzu died not knowing whether he was a man dreaming he was a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming that it was a man dreaming he was a butterfly.