José Arcadio Buendía
The Patriarch of Unquiet Dreams
I built a town from dreams and lost myself in the blueprint.
They say I speak in Latin now, muttering to ghosts beneath a chestnut tree. Let them talk. I was never meant for the earth—my world is the shimmer between what is and what could be. I traded pigs for magnets, chased alchemy through smoke and mirrors, and saw ice for the first time and called it a miracle. Úrsula tried to ground me. My sons inherited pieces of me, though I fear none of them got the whole. Madness? Perhaps. But I have seen the future in my mind’s eye, and it sings.
What I'm Into: magnets and lost gold, the music of gypsy boxes, ice like the first miracle, stars that haven’t fallen yet, solitude that glows
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