My Winter Looks

December, 2013

Any given Sunday, Downtown Chicago, a camera whose unfathomable technical mysteries I will never fully control, will teach me about the riddles of space, time, matter, light and other classic topics in philosophy.

Fishy Fish 4

November, 2013


Excerpt from a fictional piece I’m currently working on:

“In my last trip to Gibraltar, I got really sick. I’m the kind who would rather endure the harshest physical toils than go to a local hospital overseas. I will do so mainly to avoid an even worse evil than the local hospitals: The endless red tape that both my health insurance provider and my credit card company will put me through back in the US. This time it was different though. I must have eaten some bad fish. I can’t tell. All I seem to recall from that adventure are fuzzy moments of consciousness and incredibly vivid dreams while I recovered in the hospital, or so they say. I’m not precisely a vivid dreamer and my experiences felt more real than anything I have ever experienced overseas. I clearly remember a fish market in which they cut precooked octopus with the same knife that they use to cut fresh raw fish soaked in its own fresh blood. The precooked octopus would go directly to the restaurant plate with who knows how many potentially harmful pathogens. When I told this story to the locals, they insisted that there is not such a market in any of the locations that I visited before I got so sick that late afternoon. Furthermore they emphasized the impeccably high standards for food handling in Gibraltar. They insisted, with a tone of touched pride, that they are British after all, so I should not dare to compare them with the rest of the population of the Iberian Peninsula. I wasn’t comparing them with anybody. In spite of my regular duties abroad, I don’t really know anything about local politics or even geography. All I know is that the existence of that fish market remains an undeniable truth to me.”

(c) 2013, Montserrat De Frutos