Storms, projections

and twins

The text below appeared this morning on my feed. Posting it here is the price to pay for becoming public and knowingly being used as a guinea pig for artificial intelligence data gathering intrusions! I had not heard of the author but am certainly intrigued and looking him up.

Besides, there is a huge storm passing by, it is my birthday and as tradition dictates, I am entitled to do what I want, at least until midnight! The photos are from a similar storm, similar squirrels, snow and birds, ten years ago, in late January of 2016.

“A veces me pregunto si la paloma que se cruza en mi camino al atravesar la plaza de la Cibeles de Madrid es la misma que picotea los restos de un donut en Trafalgar Square, Londres, frente a un tipo algo perplejo que observa a la suya como yo a la mía. ¿Podrían ser esas dos aves el producto de un desdoblamiento? No hay manera de comprobarlo. Muere una paloma en Madrid y a la misma hora muere una en Londres. Mueren a la vez porque eran la misma, estaban duplicadas para proporcionarnos sensación de abundancia. ¿Cómo asociar esas dos muertes? Quizá la pierna de cordero al horno que me estoy comiendo yo en Ávila es la misma que se está comiendo usted en Segovia porque pertenecieron a dos corderos que eran un único cordero. Y esa mosca que acabo de fumigar cruelmente en mi despacho de Madrid es la que usted se ha cargado por el mismo método en su casa de México. ¿Todas las moscas son la misma mosca? ¿Todos los gorriones son el mismo gorrión? ¿Todos los peces son el mismo pez? ¿Todos los hombres son el mismo hombre?

En tal caso, la paloma de Cibeles sería el eco de la paloma de Trafalgar, o al revés. El eco es una repetición que llega tarde y, por llegar tarde, modifica un poco lo dicho. Si usted grita “esperanza” en una cueva, vuelve “esperanza”, aunque un poco gastada, quizá con una vocal disminuida. La paloma a la que le falte una pluma o esté tuerta en Londres sería el eco de la que está entera en Madrid.

Entre la mosca de Madrid y la mosca de México hay un volumen de aire donde algo se demora. La mayoría de las repeticiones son inaudibles; solo cuando chocan contra un acantilado de atención —soledad, fiebre, agotamiento— las oímos.

El eco tiene una propiedad curiosa: a veces se adelanta. Hay días en los que escucho el golpe de una puerta antes de que la puerta golpee. Un preeco, diríamos. El mundo es un parking subterráneo donde todo suena dos veces: primero como presentimiento, después como suceso.”

Juan José Millás, 23 enero 2026

“Sometimes I wonder if the pigeon that crosses my path as I cross the Plaza de la Cibeles in Madrid is the same one that pecks at the remains of a donut in Trafalgar Square, London, in front of a somewhat perplexed guy, who observes his as I look at mine. Could these two birds be the product of a projection? There is no way to prove it. A pigeon dies in Madrid and at the same time one dies in London. They die at the same time because they were the same, they were duplicated to provide us with a sense of abundance. How to associate these two deaths? Perhaps the baked leg of lamb that I am eating in Ávila is the same one that you are eating in Segovia because they belonged to two lambs that were a single lamb. And that fly that I have just cruelly fumigated in my office in Madrid is the one that you have killed by the same method in your house in Mexico. Are all flies the same fly? Are all sparrows the same sparrow? Are all fish the same fish? Are all men the same man?

In this case, the Dove of Cybele would be the echo of the Pigeon of Trafalgar, or the other way around. The echo is a repetition that arrives late and, because it is late, it modifies what has been said a little. If you shout “hope” in a cave, you come back with “hope,” albeit a little worn, perhaps with a diminished vowel. The pigeon that is missing a feather or is one-eyed in London would be the echo of the one that is whole in Madrid.

Between the Madrid fly and the Mexico fly there is a volume of air where something lingers. Most repetitions are inaudible; Only when they hit a cliff of attention — loneliness, fever, exhaustion — do we hear them.

The echo has a curious property: sometimes it comes early. There are days when I hear a door knock before the door knocks. A pre-echo, we would say. The world is an underground parking lot where everything sounds twice: first as a premonition, then as an event.”

Juan José Millás, ¹23 enero 2026 (translated by “machine”, with a few tweaks of mine)

“…there is a volume of air where something lingers.”

AI cannot be separated from those who wish to profit from it through us. And could it possibly be the lowest common denominator, a post-echo of colonial expert mind sets? If viewed, from far, faraway… through 12D lenses?

1. His latest book is “Ese imbecil va a escribir una novela” -”That imbecile is going to write a novel”, published by Alfaguara, 2025, in Spanish.