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At one of my favorite places, captivated by it’s black sand and its perpetual nightly companion: the lightning storms.

Aware that my body was falling behind my desires -my feet were swollen
and the exhaustion and fatigue made me almost unable to walk-,
let alone enjoy the very things I was there to do.

I consciously knew what was happening: I was dying.

Like a stubborn child, I refused to return home, and by the time I did, a few hours after my arrival in New York City, I collapsed and embarked on a medical journey that included multiple cardiac arrests, littered with extended comas
and countless other ramifications that made my current existence a kind of medical miracle: I was medically done -pretty much dead, really-.

I -once again-, returned to what I now consider to be the crime scene*;
this time however, and still recovering from the medical dramas, I brought countless copies of actual and ongoing medical records which document the medical ordeal that has dictated my very existence ever since and beyond.


I then proceeded to slowly create what I am calling THE BOOK OF SAND*.

*The pacific coast of Guatemala.
*Sand on actual medical records / 8.5 x 11 inches (21.59 x 27.94 cm)