#tattooed memory

Have I not gathered around my eyelash the dreams of your deliverance? Behold my eyes, behold my hands.

Poetry: my criminal lands where my wound carved itself.

So many nightmares drowned in blood and books.

History is our desire, tied–like any other desire–to the violence of time.

Ungraspable in your folly.

Enigma upon enigma. [...] And just at that moment she arrived, the veiled woman. Recall her hands and their tracery of henna, remember her protection, her mildness, her myths, her whimsical tales. Also remember the sound of the sea.

His gaze suddenly attracted by the image of a woman tattooed on the background of a Chinese fresco, an image capable of swallowing appearances.

My double identity [...] revolving in the very interior of my mask.