Death came close to me these days, while I was sitting on the sofa thinking about the bright future.
I’ve been having dreams about tropical jungles, weird tiny creatures crawling up my bedroom’s wall, big mountains…
There was this boy that came to me and whisper in my ear some unintelligible language, felt like he had his tongue all inside me, so strange and pleasant. I close my eyes as if I was high on mdma. I kept hearing his voice talking about places where fear didn’t exist, only pleasure, until he tried to convince me to jump out of a cliff into the wild river. I thought about my friend Patri and what was she feeling when she jumped out of her balcony. It was like a moment of sharing.
After that dream, at class, we read a play from Mark Ravenhill, The Cut. There’s a dialogue between Paul and John where, at some point, Paul closes his eyes and John tells him about a place, in the middle of the woods, where there’s only himself, no history, no society, no nothing, just peace, just the truth. When Paul opens his eyes he begs John to shoot him.
I’ve been speaking with skulls while listening to Yma Sumac and Arthur Lyman.