Wild Articulations 

Ojai, August 2007

Futurist Manifesto 

Stanford, Spring 2007 

On a bus from Salamanca to Valladolid, an old woman sat by my side for two hours. In a strange act of stranger's generosity, she shared with me the history of her family from 1925 to the present day, her story of the Civil War, her years of Tierra sin Pan, the rise and fall of Franco. It was an incredible narration. Siblings torn apart, families lost, years passed and years spent away from home. She had come to Salamanca for Easter, and as she said goodbye to me at the foothills of the mountain that led to her town, she kissed me on the cheek and pressed two easter eggs into my hands. Each was stained with the brown imprints of maple leaves, and the cracked and hollow shells felt fragile cradled in my awkward hands.