contents Picking up Pebbles To write to write one's life is to take a road that leads nowhere and yet parallels the totality of one's existence To write one's life is to evoke a silhouette that of the writer rushing through his past One cannot tell where he is going as he detours diverges deviates but that is why we want to follow him Along the way like a lost traveler he picks up pebbles from the ground and stuffs them in his pockets As he gropes backward he loses himself but we are willing to be disoriented with him willing to be lulled by his vain repetitions Stranded in time with him we lose ourselves in space with him and yet everything holds in place underneath as if pulled by a magnet All that was absent forgotten from his life is now suddenly present again contents