Short Cuts. I don’t love you anymore anyway, you can go. I loathe you. The sex always sucked. I hate all men. I hate all women. I can’t even remember what you look like. Truths: I love you so much it takes my breath away even now to think that I should have been so lucky to get you. I adore the place where you stood just now, I think the air molecules there are holy particles. Sex with you was not a revelation it was a rebirth. I love all men but how can you tell them? I love all women but how can you not tell them? I don’t need an image of you. I took your fingerprints when you were asleep and I applied them all over my body and everywhere in the hotel room where we first fucked. I am committed to covering the world with your name. Lie: I will live forever. Truth: I will die. Lie: I will never lie to you. Truth: I don’t love you anymore anyway, you should go. Leave me be. Let me take my own picture. Close the door. Take the stairs. Hold on to the railing. Go out on the street. Find a clown. Spit in his face.
#32/1000. Published in Blue Print Review (with framing story and extras). Photo: Catherine Davis; Paris, Hôtel Degrés de Notre Dame, July 2001. Text: Marcus Speh.
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