it's night and i spend it dancing to Fields of the Nephilim in a black wig, black clothes, feet bare. feeling exactly like Rachael in Blade Runner, pressed to the weak blinds, swirling. i hit my knee severely at the workshop lately and it hurts at the slightest movement. funny how pain makes you aware of your body, how it makes you concentrate. if you don't, you fall to the floor, sighing heavily from pain, clenching your eyes in silence.
the black hair brush my cheek when i am turning, i wish i had a huge mirror here. i could turn off the lamps and let only streetlights light the room. i could hardly see but the reflection shifting on its surface would still be visible. i could dance with my own shadow. to the song of others. those unaware of the pain i feel in every move. unaware of my natural hair colour. natural lip colour. and still - completely, utterly --- me.
au fil du rasoir