LITERATURE [short texts]

Rrose always speaks in S.

Oriol Espinal

magazine collaboration / 2008

After a new creative block working day, I closed my notebook letting out a “What a shit day!” and went to bed without even giving goodnight to the cat. As I felt asleep, a woman, let's say ambisexual, burst into my dream and said: “Because actually Monsieur Duchamp c'est moi. And you? Who damn are you?”. I don't know —I answered— and that, according to you (if it's true who you state you are) would be the same as saying: “I don't believe”. In fact, I don't know neither why or what am I for, nor what am I and which is my place in this dream”. “Anyone who believes does not —the woman whispered— since only who, with extreme discretion, disbelieves me will be able to work the immeasurable field I gave men. I want you to be the new insolence missionary, the one restoring my kingdom before ideas are extinct from words and these only do to give sensed nonsense condolences to the rejected bachelors”. “But you never wanted to have disciples" I said, giving no credit to what I was listening. “My only wish presently —the woman said — is you act to resolve my delayed will. Take note on your mind what I'm going to say and actualize it to the extent it is a physically contra-aesthetical flam.

1-Acte d'honneur. To make the sun embracing the pleasure retinal organs visible in the no-vision (you'd better entrust yourself to St. Lucia)

2- Acte d'humour: Desdalinize that girl's moustache whose name sounds as an expensive bitch (you must do it yourself 3: barbers who long for a place in history are not allowed)

3- Acte d'amour: Search for the first version of Roue de byciclette (in this case, make yourself sure of the collaboration of a good bloodhound) If you finally came across with it, set fire the stool and fix the wheel over a marble cube, where you should write in lipstick (better rouge to rose) the phrase “Who's afraid of Rrose Selavy?” over its visible faces. Then, install the piece of work at 68 Rue du Vice, Rouen.

Humoring her, I asked if I should do anything in relation to the Philadelphia exhibitionist. "Naturally —she answered — that would be your tour de force. Look for a male (so much better if he is handsome) willing to please her through a lifetime. The one who kicked up the real-world fuss, already said it was no good for a woman to be alone, much I..." Suddenly, a voice in the dark intervened to the conversation saying: "And didn't she say, by the way, It was not expectable for the verbal diarrhea to take over the paragraphs? Perceiving my puzzlement, with a kind old lady's voice, the woman said: "Don't be afraid son, it is Ferdinand Dupre, the And however's editor. His anger (apparent and meta-ironic) will drop down when we take hold of the silence illuminating the castle of the pure ideas, nevertheless...