On the morning that she came
Certain delicate, though abnormal, feelings
In an inner passageway used in the past by silk manufacturers and other merchants to transport their products, Marion found two lost goats. She took off her stockings, tied them to the goats’ beards, and brought us to our flat. At home, I was shaping a small fig tree which I had taken from an …
A strange king of circus
Marion’s moans of pleasure made the guitar chords vibrate. I thought she was happy with me, though our life was completely free of drama, but one evening she poisoned me and left the city with a troupe of vagabond dancers. Though I felt in the tea’s vapours the cyanide’s smell of bitter almonds, I drank …
The Moon at the Antipodes
I was reading a good book and I was listening to the music of the great composers. I was extremely tired. Marion came back home. I undressed her, inspected her skin attentively with a magnifying glass, and whispered to her: “Marion, there are marks of teeth on your shoulder. Tell me the truth: who was …
A phrase of coloured neon
An old emigrant, whom I had met in the market place, one hot summer day when I was out hunting, with my hungry olfaction, for effluences of pestilential and rancid perfumes, invited us to visit her lace and embroidery studio. We followed her, holding hands, on the narrow medieval streets. Her incognito studio was improvised …
Signs everywhere
The air was weighty with the smell of bitter herbs; on the roof tiles baby lizards were broiling in the sun; on the terrace, in some big ceramic pots, I was proudly growing thyme, rosemary, lavender, and some sunflowers. A helicopter carrying a sky banner was advertising the merits of a local painter, and let …
About colours and perfumes
We were in the luxuriant garden of an unknown old lady, who was holding in her arms a ceramic headed big doll dressed with a rotten lace gown and telling us with her hazy voice: “You mix all the colours, the purest colours, the freshest and most vibrant and most diffuse and most limpid of …
The temple of my thought
Morning Rituals
The end of all seasons
Sometimes Marion descends the stairs surrounded by white light, wearing a long linen dress, her hair attached in a pony tail with a narrow strip of lace, opens the letter box and reads very seriously the electricity and phone bills: these news make her laugh or cry. Sometimes our neighbours make fun of her and …