Feli Escardó

It´s hard you know,not being forgotten.While time is being such a bastard. Such as society, and maths, and coachs.You can start with an outgiving of everything in this world that is a bastard and my name behind the dashline, cause maybe our stories are all made of outgivings and dash lines. My granfather says life is formed by many intertwined stories in which we are all just secondary characters. And maybe that´s all we can ask for, the small pieces tof stories that become too many and too long, and all we need is something to tell and someone to tell it too. One day when we all grow old we´ll know that life was no more than the thousands of different people we got to know, the thousands of different laughters we got to hear, and it´s all about remembering their faces. Cause we don´t have forever, nobody does, and despite that people keep forgetting, as if life wasn´t too short to forget it all. When that makes you cry, ink tears are ever lasting in a way water tears are not. So I write stories and I want to be a piece in yours.I don´t need to believe in God to know that humans are much more that what they carry in their bones.I know we can be indestructible, and I want our stories to be too.
My favorite book is Looking For Alaska:no lies about how fucked up, terible, hurtful, unpredictable and yet fascinating humans are. Then Garcia Marquez,Jane Austin, Rick Riordan, and J.K Rowling, who`s Harry gave me a magic childhood. I´m also obsessed with TV shows as Smash, Dowton Abbey and Grey´s Antmy.I´m convinced that I was born in the wrong place and time: I belong to the faded photo charm of NYC in the 60´s. Down Fifth Avenue, Tiffany Jewelry and Chanel Nº5, when Marilyn Monroe and Audrey Hepburn were around, their forgotten way of beauty tearing me apart. Someday I´ll reach that city, and stay a looong time. Cause I´m called a freak, a loser. Cause I´m an outcast. Most of all cause I´m a dreamer, who admires and breaths and writes, trying to descipher a beating heart