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"When i was six, I invented another identity for myself.

I was an Indian girl who had come from a far off place, and had just moved to a new address in Grenoble.
I had my rites, my ornaments, my own story.
Up until my mother discovered my double life, I easily succeeded

in making others believe, seeing as I believed it myself, that I lived in a tipi and that my strange accent from Toulouse was in fact a remnant of my native tongue.  
My Indian world, destroyed by sacrosanct reason which tells us

to never lie, did not disappear.
It hid itself in an intimate part of my brain, an internal area where ecstasy is easy and where the tempo is always that of a gallop.
From that world, I retained the memory of how to breathe in in order to fill myself up with nobility.
I also know how to deploy my arms, furiously, in the same way that an arrow cuts through the air.

My contact with the ground is imperial. My feet rest on cushions of air before pressing the ground.
From this contact with the ground, a subtle power emanates from

my body. My dance is soft and mellow.

My pelvis becomes the moving axis.

I know then that I can make the elastic taut.
The Indian Monsters are hidden and bite me during my sleep.
As soon as I open my eyes, nobody comes, only my other self, another me who, just as in any dream, is nothing like me at all.

La BaZooKa