TO DESTROY WOMAN'S FACE28 January 2007
This is how it drove me mad.
In the cold light of a Sunday morning, the hand of the dead man touched me. I used to be afraid of those frozen fingers. Now I know they are just tools.
Musical tunes were swimming in the air, and I was living into another dimension, getting too far away from this world that I belong to. The hand brought me to life. The dead man proposed to me to play poker on the pavement.
- OK, I said.
- I don’t play with any cards.
- How do you do?
- I imagine them, that is why I always win.
- That’s a hard dilemma.
- Do you want to go?
- No, don’t worry dead man, I am here to learn.
So we played. We played all day long, and three entire nights. The devil came to visit us. I felt sympathy for the devil.
A mouse called Gerald slept in my arms and drank milk from my tits. I gave birth to a hundred blister blue babies. All of them were dead and beautiful. The silence of the death is just as cool as ice. Happy people are not.
Coloured rounds and circles appeared in the dead man’s evil eyes. I beg for mercy.
- I don’t have any destination, I said.
- Count the red balls in the sky, he ordered.
- Twelve.
- Go to Tokyo, and come back in twelve hours.
I left him and walked through colossal landscapes. Ladies and gentlemen smiled at me. I didn’t walk but run. The purple moon helped me when I was down.
Imagination is the solution.
Imagination is the.
Imagination is.
Imagination.
In Tokyo, people were to busy. Their bodies in my body produced thousands of confusions. My body in their bodies created wonderful shadows.
I came back twelve hours after.
The dead man was waiting for me in the park. We drank sangria in the zoo, and when it was getting dark, we went home.
- Tell me stories, he said.
- This is the story of the scorched cat. Open your mind, and try to see the boat on the sea.
- Here I am.
- Can you smell the salt?
- I can.
- Here we go.
The dead man closed his evil eyes.
I told:
Once upon a time, a cat was living in a dusty hotel. Everyday was the same day. He had to clean the room, to brush his sharp teeth, to hover the corridor, to ask money to his clients, to drink whisky from eight in the morning to eleven PM…
When the scorched cat was tired, he usually had a migraine and took his needle close to his veins. So close that sometimes it penetrated his scorched body.
It was a Monday, in the afternoon, while he was reading a tale of Mishima, he felt his head rolling on the floor and making crazy sounds. “My head” he screamed, “my holy mount zion head is having fun far from me”. A client called Mister Louhrein smashed the head by error. “I AM SORRY”, he said. “Don’t speak this way to me”, the scorched cat thought.
He rolled another one and smoked with his ass. “What can I do without a head”? The scorched cat wondered for hours. At eleven PM, when the bottle of whisky was empty, he decided to cross the street. He crossed and died.
That was the tale of the scorched cat.
- I hate it. It is absolutely useless.
- Yes, I know. That is the reason why I told it to everyone.
- Do you want a cup of tea?
- No, I don’t. I would like to feel you inside my body.
- It is an impossible thing.
- Why?
- Because I am too cold for you.
- Is it dangerous?
- Yes, it is.
I and the dead man slept and never woke up.
In the cold light of a Sunday morning, the hand of the dead man touched me. I used to be afraid of those frozen fingers. Now I know they are just tools.
Musical tunes were swimming in the air, and I was living into another dimension, getting too far away from this world that I belong to. The hand brought me to life. The dead man proposed to me to play poker on the pavement.
- OK, I said.
- I don’t play with any cards.
- How do you do?
- I imagine them, that is why I always win.
- That’s a hard dilemma.
- Do you want to go?
- No, don’t worry dead man, I am here to learn.
So we played. We played all day long, and three entire nights. The devil came to visit us. I felt sympathy for the devil.
A mouse called Gerald slept in my arms and drank milk from my tits. I gave birth to a hundred blister blue babies. All of them were dead and beautiful. The silence of the death is just as cool as ice. Happy people are not.
Coloured rounds and circles appeared in the dead man’s evil eyes. I beg for mercy.
- I don’t have any destination, I said.
- Count the red balls in the sky, he ordered.
- Twelve.
- Go to Tokyo, and come back in twelve hours.
I left him and walked through colossal landscapes. Ladies and gentlemen smiled at me. I didn’t walk but run. The purple moon helped me when I was down.
Imagination is the solution.
Imagination is the.
Imagination is.
Imagination.
In Tokyo, people were to busy. Their bodies in my body produced thousands of confusions. My body in their bodies created wonderful shadows.
I came back twelve hours after.
The dead man was waiting for me in the park. We drank sangria in the zoo, and when it was getting dark, we went home.
- Tell me stories, he said.
- This is the story of the scorched cat. Open your mind, and try to see the boat on the sea.
- Here I am.
- Can you smell the salt?
- I can.
- Here we go.
The dead man closed his evil eyes.
I told:
Once upon a time, a cat was living in a dusty hotel. Everyday was the same day. He had to clean the room, to brush his sharp teeth, to hover the corridor, to ask money to his clients, to drink whisky from eight in the morning to eleven PM…
When the scorched cat was tired, he usually had a migraine and took his needle close to his veins. So close that sometimes it penetrated his scorched body.
It was a Monday, in the afternoon, while he was reading a tale of Mishima, he felt his head rolling on the floor and making crazy sounds. “My head” he screamed, “my holy mount zion head is having fun far from me”. A client called Mister Louhrein smashed the head by error. “I AM SORRY”, he said. “Don’t speak this way to me”, the scorched cat thought.
He rolled another one and smoked with his ass. “What can I do without a head”? The scorched cat wondered for hours. At eleven PM, when the bottle of whisky was empty, he decided to cross the street. He crossed and died.
That was the tale of the scorched cat.
- I hate it. It is absolutely useless.
- Yes, I know. That is the reason why I told it to everyone.
- Do you want a cup of tea?
- No, I don’t. I would like to feel you inside my body.
- It is an impossible thing.
- Why?
- Because I am too cold for you.
- Is it dangerous?
- Yes, it is.
I and the dead man slept and never woke up.
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