“Anyone who directly and honestly reproduces that force which impels him to create belongs to us.”
Ernst Ludwig Kirchner
I had a dream.
Night tourism in my own city. We went down into a club. A ramp that opened into a café-theater, all red and gold. They spoke in Russian, or Serbo-Croatian, and a couple was performing a sorf of dance on stage. The magician was striking the woman in the corneas, or he was about to kill her. It was a brothel, really. But they were all dressed like gypsies. A Russian cabaret.
I took your hand and pulled you out of there, protecting you from the danger. They wanted meat, the vampires.
Now that I think about it, the brothel was a club. One of those places where people go to swap partners.
I had forgotten because I don’t really want to remember. You know I reject and deny my own body, I would always dress in black. Tall and thin, hiding my ass - I had no ass back ten, at nineteen - but everything is hidden, covered since then.
Maybe in the end I did have a big butt, but it doesn’t matter because it all horrified me. I couldn’t stand anyone touching my ass, and I don’t understand why people did it, that urge to touch, fumble, the need for human touch.
We only wanted to paint and make art, so we went down the ramp, as if looking for inspiration around the city.
Who am I kidding? We weren’t that naive. We were just scared to death. That’s why we went down the ramp and found ourselves in the club.
And the man was tying the woman up, grabbing her by the wrists and lifting her chin in a gesture that could have been very sexual if I hadn’t been the one who was terrified. Not her. That’s why she was there, right? She liked it.
Why do people go to those places?
I told X to go to those clubs without me, to have fun, enjoy himself, express himself, whatever he wanted, but to leave me alone. He got angry. If he went, we’d go together. Even though all he really wanted was to sleep. Then I wanted to sleep too.
In the dream I seem very responsible. I detect the danger and since I’m the host- showing you the mythical places of my own city, which I know like the back of my hand, the same hand I wouldn’t hesitate to slap you with -I am gracious and angelic with my guests. I protect you all from the nocturnal dangers, poor creatures wandering lost down Calle Alcalá, craning your necks from one quadriga perched on top of one building to a statue someone planted up on another.
Tourists! Candid souls with your own syndrome, trotting around like foals as if you were back in your own hometown. You want to devour the world and you don’t know the world will destroy you.
The man gripped the woman’s wrists hard and pulled her hair and forced her to look up at the ceiling, all gold and red. The interior sinking in the blue smoke of cigarettes.
How I feel the pull myself!
The performance consisted of tearing out her eyes, striking her eyeballs until she went blind. I dragged you out of there, horrified. You were watching with a curious smile, you wanted to live life!
“What the fuck!”
I could not survive if I went blind.
You laugh. It was just a dream brought on by anxiety, for fuck’s sake. They almost ate you, those vampires.
Next time I might let them.
…
Hola , ¡¡¡ Pobres Turistas , Almas inocentes !!!. Muy Bueno. Un Saludo.
🖤