I never remember what other people own,  I only know what is mine.

I take someone else’s heart and start dancing around with it.

They’re surprised at first, they try to hold on to my hands, to my body.

Then they understand how spinning makes the blood run faster through their veins -straight to their mortal souls.

You start pumping blood in other people’s hearts. You close your eyes, you tear your heart open, then cut your hair, you pretend to believe in magic and put on men’s hats.

I cannot decide about the relevance of my origins.

You say it’s important.

That I should shout out loud how there’s gypsy blood running through my veins.

There, I’ve said it.

I do not know what it means yet.


pictures by dad

see also Boris Vian :

“Je suis vide. Je n’ai que gestes, réflexes, habitudes. Je veux me remplir. C’est pourquoi je psychanalyse les gens. Mais mon tonneau est un tonneau des Danaïdes. Je n’assimile pas. Je leur prends leurs pensées, leurs complexes, leurs hésitations, et rien ne me reste. Je n’assimile pas, ou j’assimile trop bien …, c’est la même chose. Bien sûr, je conserve des mots, des contenants, des étiquettes ; je connais les termes sous lesquels on range les passions, les émotions mais je ne les éprouve pas.”

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