I got scared. I ran. I rushed into a door hall where a woman was knifing a man under the stairway. I looked at her, without any kind of reaction, but with such an intensity and such a sexual excitation that I started to puke. When the knife moved slowly upwards, I awoke inside my own life. I didn’t regarded the act she was committing as an assassination, I just had the feeling of a perfect and pure move. I seldom met cold-blood murderers before that day, but I can’t imagine spending time now without being at the side of all these silent and often very shy persons, sitting with them at the same table, joining my hands, praying, my spirit spread wide open like legs after a rape, and getting blessed by thousand of spits. Phil Rahmy 2008 – writing in progress (translated from French)
