Fire.
| N° d'inventaire | 22482 |
| Format | 15 x 24 |
| Détails | 30 p., paperback with dust jacket. |
| Publication | Paris, 2004 |
| Etat | Nine |
| ISBN | 9782914490061 |
Copy 140/331, numbered and signed. What would be the fate of women deprived of men? How could they reabsorb within themselves this great carnivorous sense of desire that moves and intoxicates them, and without which they would remain beyond their simple gestures, their caresses to the world and to life, mute and asthenic? How could they come to terms with lack and absence? For I believe that neither their beauty nor their femininity can ever be resigned. How could they acquiesce to this great crime of widowhood perpetrated against their souls and their courage without rising up, rebelling, and destroying or dangerously transforming, since it has become the place of digging and drama, their inner landscape? So each one chooses the deformity of a dream and gives herself over to its drift. So much so that the arrival of men can only prove derisory and disappointing, and well below their poignant visions. If they fall, if they incline, if they suffer while dreaming, it is because they are alive, it is because they have warded off the void and preserved their senses, and they still have, half vacant, half doleful, to fertilize the lure.
Copy 140/331, numbered and signed. What would be the fate of women deprived of men? How could they reabsorb within themselves this great carnivorous sense of desire that moves and intoxicates them, and without which they would remain beyond their simple gestures, their caresses to the world and to life, mute and asthenic? How could they come to terms with lack and absence? For I believe that neither their beauty nor their femininity can ever be resigned. How could they acquiesce to this great crime of widowhood perpetrated against their souls and their courage without rising up, rebelling, and destroying or dangerously transforming, since it has become the place of digging and drama, their inner landscape? So each one chooses the deformity of a dream and gives herself over to its drift. So much so that the arrival of men can only prove derisory and disappointing, and well below their poignant visions. If they fall, if they incline, if they suffer while dreaming, it is because they are alive, it is because they have warded off the void and preserved their senses, and they still have, half vacant, half doleful, to fertilize the lure.