“Life and dreams are pages of the same book,” the German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer once wrote, and I repeat after him in fascination, because it seems more true than the truth itself. And here’s a couple for you hundreds of pages torn from my personal, endless (I hope) book - at random, blindly - mixed and stitched together many years ago. This book includes stories, essays and just working notes made over the years, wherever and whenever necessary: on napkins in a cafe, on a computer and in a notebook, on the sand, in the margins of other people’s books, with a chemical pencil on the wrist, with a razor blade on the heels running, in reality and in a dream.