The Distance of the Moon

  • To me, the story is not only about a love triangle, but also about the sense of home. It's about the longing for something or someone else, only to realize the importance of one's roots.
  • "I was eager to return to Earth, and I trembled at the fear of having lost it. The fulfillment of my dream of love had lasted only that instant when we had been united, spinning between Earth and Moon; torn from its earthly soil, my love now knew only the heart-rending nostalgia for what it lacked: a where, a surrounding, a before, an after."

At Daybreak

  • Life before matter condenses.

A Sign In Space

  • About signs and signifiers - and also subtly about art and artists.
  • An example of the postmodern theory: The sign is not the thing it signifies, nor can one claim to fully or properly describe a thing or an idea with a word or other symbol.
  • It's hard to explain because if I say sign to you, you immediately think of a something that can be distinguished from something else, but nothing could be distinguished from anything there.
  • As to the form a sign should have, you say it's no problem because whatever form it may be given, a sign only has to serve as a sign, that is, be different or else the same as other signs. There were no things to copy - nobody knew what a line was, straight or curved, or even a dot, or a protuberance or a cavity.
  • I conceived the idea of making a sign, that's true enough. Or rather, I concieved the idea of considering a sign a something that I felt like making, so when, at that point in space and not in another, I made something, meaning to make a sign, it turned out that I really had made a sign, after all.
  • To think something had never been possible, first because there were no things to think about, and second because signs to think of them by were lacking, but from the moment there was that sign, it was possible for someone thinking to think of a sign, and therefore that one, in the sense that the sign was the thing you could think about and also the sign of the thing thought, namely itself.
  • I had lost everything: the sign, the point, the thing that caused me –– being the one who had made the sign at that point –– to be me. Space without a sign, was once again a chasm, the void without beginning or end, nauseating, in which everything –– including me –– was lost.
  • (the series of signs was multiplied in the series of the signs of signs, of signs repeated countless times always the same and always somehow different because to the purposely made sign you had to add the sign that had happened there by chance)

All At One Point

  • All matter and creation used to exist in one point. Nobody knew that there could be space, or time either. Everyone was everything and everywhere at once - because they were all the same single point.
  • The only thing that could differentiate them were their individual thoughts?

Without Colours

  • Before there was atmosphere, everything was the same shade of grey.
  • It's about the novelty of colours that drifts the character's love interest away - I think it's about change and coping with change.

Games Without End

  • A galactic game of marbles back before the universe had formed much more than particles.
  • About competition and the void.

The Aquatic Uncle

  • I think it's about civilization, race and "the other".
  • It's also about family.
  • They all had something, I know, that made them somehow superior to me, sublime, something that made me, compared to them, mediocre. And yet I wouldn't have traded places with any of them.

How Much Shall We Bet?

  • It's a story about time, space and the "betting" on evolution.
  • An infinite reserve of new combinations among the signs which compact, opaque, uniform reality would use to disguise it's monotony, and I realized that perhaps the race toward the future, the race I had been the first to foresee and desire tended only –– through time and space –– toward a crumbling into alternatives like this, until it would dissolve into a geometry of invisible triangles and ricochets.
  • Whereas now events come flowing down without interruption, like cement being poured, one column next to the other, one within the other, separated by black and incongruous headlines, legible in many ways but intrinsically illegible, a doughy mass of events without form or direction, which surrounds, submerges, crushes all reasoning.

The Dinosaurs

  • How some dinosaurs lived after most of them had become extinct, and how the rest of the world feared this extinct creature.
  • It's about trying to fit into a place of your own, and feelings about culture and belonging. It's also about "the other" and how societies antagonize communities that are different from their own. They move from fear, to antagonizing, to sympathizing, to making fun of and as time goes by, their relationship with the unknown other changes drastically, like a Chinese Whisper.

The Form of Space

  • It's about falling through space in what seems to be a line perfectly parallel to someone else. It's about longing for the shape of space to change so that the lines are no longer parallel.
  • To identify oneself so completely with one's own state of fall that one could realizer the line followed in falling wasn't what it seemed but another, or rather to succeed in changing that line in the only way it could be changed, namely, by making it become what it had always been.

The Light Years

  • I feel like this one is about living with judgement from other people. It's living in the fear of someone watching you, and judging your actions - whoever that may be. It's about wanting to be someone and the effort it takes to get there, and it's about the consequences our actions may inadvertently have.
  • Thinking of this judgement, I would no longer be able to change, I suddenly felt a kind of relief as if peace could come to me only after the moment when there would be nothing to add and nothing to remove in that arbitrary ledger of misunderstandings, and the galaxies which were gradually reduced to the last tail of the last luminous ray, winding from the sphere of darkness, seemed to bring with them the only possible truth about myself, and I couldn't wait until all of them, one after the other, had followed this path.

The Spiral

  • A story about life as a mollusk, and the nature of love and writing.
  • It's also about thoughts and the action of sight. It's about being one with the rest of the world - there are no boundaries, and inside and outside become the same.
  • What is the essence of a "being"?
  • But since I had no form, I could feel all possible forms in myself, and all actions and expressions and possibilities of making noises, even rude ones. In short, there were no limitations to my thoughts, which weren't thoughts after all, because I had no brain to think them; every cell on its own thought every thinkable thing all at once, not through images of any kind at our disposal, but simply in that indeterminate way of feeling oneself there, which did not prevent us from feeling ourselves equally there in some other way.
  • I remember when I became aware of being aware of it as a thing I had always known.
    • Sounds eerily like something I would say.
  • From her present formlessness she would be transformed into one of the infinite possible forms, still remaining herself, however. I didn't imagine the forms that she might assume, but I imagined the special quality that, in taking them, she would give to those forms.
  • So sight, our sight, which we were obscurely waiting for, was the sight that others had of us.