.

Y: I like your day bed.

M: It’s a Barcelona.

Y: Beige is a nice colour.

M: Actually, that’s beachsand, but yes, I suppose it’s a nice colour. Not why I bought it, of course.

Y: And these black leather chairs?

M: The ones in obsidian? They’re by Paul Kjärholm.

Y: And that means…?

M: That they’re imported and expensive.

Y: Right.

M: I admire Scandinavian designers. The dining table is custom made by Safður Kristný. And those are Eames chairs around it.

Y: Are we going upstairs?

M: No, I don’t think so. Not the bedroom.

Y: Just here then?

M: Yes.

Y: Will you undress me, or do you want me to do it myself?

M: I’m afraid you’re on your own.

Y: Will you touch me?

M: Not this time, no.

Y: So you’re just gonna watch?

M: That was the idea, yes.

Y: You’re a heartless bastard, you know that?

M: I’m not heartless.

Y: You’re not heartless.

M: No. I have a heart. I just don’t have it here with me.

Y: Where is it, then?

M: Maybe it’s in a small village near the province of Guangzhou, where whooping cranes make love to the local rice maidens in summer before flying back south to their ancient wives. In the ancestral house of a Cantonese clan, there is a painting of the old father and his bride, back when they were young, during their wedding ceremony. They are seated and a young servant boy serves them tea. The boy is afraid that he will stumble and be beaten for his clumsiness. In one of the covered teacups lies my heart, wrapped in fragrant tea leaves and the fear of the young boy.

Y: So, you’re saying that’s where your heart is, maybe?

M: Yes.

Y: But maybe not.

M: Maybe not. Maybe you would have to ferry a trajinera to la Isla de las Muñecas where limbless and headless baby dolls frolic and say bitter grace. In the centre of the island, there is a silent meadow where fascists come to dream of future saints. One of these martyrs-to-come will steal a glass of eiswein from the table of his enemy. My heart is dissolved in that wine, together with nightmares of a revolution.

Y: But. Maybe not.

M: Maybe not. Maybe I’ve kept my heart in the breast of the only person I ever desired, where the two hearts can be together the way we could never be and now never will. Maybe that’s where my heart is. But it’s not here. Start with your shoes. Remove the right one first.

Y: Okay.

~ * ~

Current Mood: Cruel.
Current Music:

• Jeff Buckley – New Year’s Prayer
• Björk mit Funkstörung – All is Full of Love (Seconddotted)
• Dido – Life For Rent

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Credits: Image from Björk’s Homogenic.