Show, show, show the screen will be show. Here, it is the Villa Noailles, but, in reality, we are at the foot of the Eiffel Tower, in Paris, and I watch my fear live which suddenly becomes obscure. A Victorian sap “invitation to the coronation obliges” had to sing or shut up, so I loosened my fist from my calame and grabbed Virginie Viard’s harvest, just for a moment.
There appeared to me a multiple rainbow made of flesh and dust, which rumbles to the door of my spirit, a new breath so that my pain of waiting ends.