the rose petal

A glass full of water. A red straw. A yellow lemon sclice, perfect, explosion in my mouth.
implosion in my heart.
there was a time when my heart broke. It was in Berlin, around this time of the year.
I showed in an istallation how it felt like. The heartache. As if the heart was massaged. I put cellophane stripes everywhere in the room, hanging randomly from the ceiling to the floor, with transparent photographs of me and my love on them, like a labyrinth of memories.
In the middle was a first aid dummy on the floor in which I had installed a switch so that if you gave the dummy a heart jump it would switch the sound and lights on.
The lights illuminated the pictures and the sound was a mix of my own sobbing and the crying of the girl in Mulholland Drive when she masturbates. The lights flashed like crazy, in circles, as if you were caught in this labyrinth of beautiful hurting memories.
In the corner was a TV on silent, to show how life goes on even if you feel dead like that. the exit was barrikaded with those red white striped construction ribbons and behind it there was a heart on the floor and the sound of a heart beating. A mirror at the wall. Because the only way out is to face yourself.

Today it is different.
Today it is a tsunami.
A racing heart.

And now I would do it differently. Now I would show a naked woman lying on a pedestrial with icecubes on her chest.
Because this is what i need right now.
Ice cubes to make myself ice cold.
To survive this brutal and enormous liberation.