Chilam Balam

I cannot understand most of the languages around here. Of course I cannot. However, listening to certain ones makes me smile, because I associate them with sounds. There is a language that sounds “triskli triskli,” another one that sounds “nyang nyang,” and another one that sounds “balam balam.” It’s so much fun to listen to them.

I wonder what people from other countries associate Spanish with.


Never before has the sun been so bright
As when it’s in your eyes,
And never again will the moon be so gentle
As when it’s on your thighs.

So take your golden lips
And place them onto mine;
Your touch is soft as gentle dove’s,
Your kiss, as sweet as wine.

—Kenneth Wolf

And then, all of a sudden, you remember. It doesn’t matter what you were doing before, or what you will do now that it’s there. You have remembered, and there is nothing in this world which will show you what strange path did the sparks take to awake the words —the meaningless words! —from endless hibernation. Like Horpach’s crew in The Invincible, you feel the black void in your stomach when you become able to hear a dead man’s last thoughts, only that this time the corpse belongs to none other than your own self, the You of yesterday nine years ago.

The arising question then is, has this detached piece of life returned to stay? Is it half a finger, miraculously back in place? Or is the finding of a random memory more like that of an old fingernail under the sink, something undeniably yours yet condemned to immediate oblivion?


I broke my glass today after washing it. Two or three fragments fell on the sink, so I easily picked them up. However, when my foot slid quite uncomfortably on the floor, feeling something sandlike underneath, I discovered a tiny shard which had flown farther than the rest. I walked toward the bed, sat on it, and then walked back to the kitchen. To my surprise, when I looked down I discovered red prints which marked the way to my bed and back. Not even then did I feel the pain; only at about 10.30 am did I walk clumsily into the classroom.

I can still remember the bright freshness of my blood decorating the faux wood. Scarlet brushstrokes fading into maroon stamps remind me what is the shape of my heel.

Immediately after I recognized the accidental painting, I wiped it off nonchalantly and limped my way into the shower.