Selected articles, stories, and notes. Total entries: 7.
Mark was eating soup. Loudly, or so it seemed to Lena. She sat across from him, looking not at him but through him. In her head, invisible to the human eye yet heavy as a tombstone, lay the Instruction Manual. Item 42: "When I come home tired, he must notice within the first three seconds, come over, hug me, and ask what happened before I even...
At first, we are architects. We are born a wild, unmapped landscape. Somewhere lies a swamp of secret wants, somewhere cliffs of irrational fear, somewhere clearings of pure, causeless joy. Very early on, though, an inner perfectionist wakes up with a master plan for the build-out. He isn’t a tyrant. He’s a decorator. He undertakes the...
A man built the perfect cage for his canary. Every bar was measured. Every perch polished. He calculated the ideal distance to the feeder and the water cup. Everything was arranged so the bird would be comfortable. So her life would be fully predictable, safe, familiar. He loved his canary. He only wanted to protect her from the chaos outside. But...
Arthur was not a person. He was a function housed in a flawless exoskeleton. His title - “Senior Partner” - was a cuirass. His measured, emotionless speech - a sealed visor. His daily commute from sterile suburb to glass office tower - greaves that kept him from straying. Deep inside that armor didn’t sit Arthur at all, but a small, frightened...
He lived in a departure lounge. Not a real one - in the one inside his head. He lived as if his real life was still on its way, as if everything happening now was a long, overextended prologue with his takeoff endlessly delayed. He sat in that lounge and stared through a foggy window at the runway where other people’s planes - bright, swift,...
This is your inner, pocket tyrant. A tiny mad director you yourself handed an unlimited budget and complete creative freedom. He sits in your head, legs crossed, sketching the storyboards of the future. Right here everyone else will say exactly this . And you will answer like that . Perfect lighting, measured pauses. He even picks poses for a...
Victor wasn’t living. He was sterilising reality. His apartment was an operating room, and he, its chief surgeon, carved out any tumor of chaos. His balcony, tiled in flawless white, was his personal annex of sterility on the seventh floor. Deep in the basement of his skull, in a dark, reeking corner, a howling monkey sat chained. That monkey...
"I am an explorer describing what I see. Each text here is a mirror reflecting one facet of human experience; one ray of light falling at a particular angle. This is not the ultimate truth nor a universal diagnosis. There are no final answers here. Only an invitation to reflect."