During our conversation with New York based writer Sasha Nudel, we grasped what it means to delve deeper into the world of poetry and learnt how words impact our day to day existence. Further, we explore her tumultuous journey that comes in tow with being a writer and finally her endeavour to become unapologetically herself.
You turn on the stereo and I pull the windows down, resting my arm, flicking off my burning cigarette onto the dusty pavement, just barely alive. A static noise strikes the air and soon the music floods into the car, reminding me of simpler times when all I had to think about was school, homework and keep up with what’s new in town? I tap my fingers over the steering wheel as you pull back your seat, your feet over my dashboard, singing along religiously with your eyes closed to the world.
Another Tuesday, another day alive in a redefined world. It’s one pm and my paper thin curtains hangs still, a testimony to the warm windless weather outside. Golden rays like warm honey spill through my sheer white drapes and to my wooden floor as dusts like tiny flakes floats along the runway paved by the light shinning by.
You might think it longs for the sort of adventure that makes your heart beat quick, that tosses you in the choppy currents of unknown seas to finally fling you panting, gasping for breath, onto unexplored beaches; but real joy is found in the slow, rhythmic turn of the everyday.
Little did I know that my ability to seek change depended on the stability of the world at large. In March, that sense of stability came crashing down and suddenly I found myself in a situation of change that was beyond my experience and above my pay grade.
Some moments you’re grieving, next you’re on cloud nine. Some moments you’re alone, completely isolated, next you’re sleeping in your lover’s bed. Some moments you’re certain, next you’ve lost your track.
They say the best kiss is the one that has been exchanged a thousand times between the eyes before it reaches the lips, but during this quarantine I´ve learned words are the first kiss. We are used to judge by appearance, to touch before we listen, we connect with our bodies before than with our minds. But now, being isolated we can only touch each other through our words.
In this issue we are going to explore happiness. The pursuit of happiness may well be the most stubborn of all human clichés. Everybody, throughout human history, has been searching for it, selling it, finding it, and losing it. Happiness is what keeps us humans going. What helps us forget the hardships. It distracts us from the tragedy and finiteness of life. Happiness is like the drug that keeps us alive.
“I’ve been visiting my memories. My hot body after the sun. The wind blew on my face. The breeze calming down in the treetops. And that day full of…
“[W]hat is a melancholia? What is a depression? – we find ourselves faced with an enigmatic chiasmus that will continue to preoccupy us. If loss, mourning, and absence set the imaginary act in motion and permanently fuel it as much as they menace and undermine it, it is also undeniable that the fetish of the work of art is erected in disavowal of this mobilizing affliction.
“I wanted to live this way, surrounded by a garden and beautiful landscape all my life. It wasn’t how I grew up but I always yearned for this way of…
The past has not always been as good as you think it had been when you look back at it from the present. But even the bad moments stay as a bittesweet memory in your mind, in yourself and accompany you wherever you go making you realize a tiny bit of the greatness of your own evolution, the preciousness of each moment you experience and life itself.
It’s been ten days, that I have wished to hear your subtle breathless snore next to me, your unfettered grunt, your dry whisper in my ear; but there, here, is only the unforgiving Atlantic wind, the rain, all the rain, and the narrow eyed seagulls on the power pole.
Damaged heart but now more stronger than before. Magic muse, unique and similar to all the others at the same time, I fall back into your arms. With another. All over again. Every time I believe in it. The warmth of kisses. To slide fingers through hair, hot emerald looks, naked bodies.
I haven´t been creative in a while. No words come out of my brain worth to be written down. Everything has already been said and written down. And while being stuck in the rat race of life, all my energy goes into keeping up with keeping it all together.