Devil

RIC J: Devil, in fact, you’re not terribly scared … I have some questions for you.  Answer frankly but do not approach too much of me …

D: Are you scared of me or am I scared of you?

RIC J: Are you alive or dead?

D: The Devil is like Schrodinger’s cat – it is both dead and alive until you enter hell.

RIC J: Better is life on earth or death in hell?

D: Better is la petit mort anywhere – on earth or in hell but few people have experienced it to fully understand it.

RIC J: What is the smell of death?

D: Bitter lemon.

RIC J: Does sex have a place in the underworld?  More than in Paradise?

D: Paradise is fuckingly boring – with its apple trees (and not even made of half apples) and reclining four-handed gods listening to classical music. There is no sex in a place like that. Underworld is all sex, the devil has the biggest cock.

RIC J: Which music, for making love with whom, in which position?

D: An unholy mix of Bach and David Brubeck, with you, the YY position.

RIC J: What book is on your bedside table?

D: Two books: “The Evolution of Beauty: Exhilarating … Survival of the fittest might not be enough to explain nature. We might need survival of the prettiest too.” And: “Bengali Sex Stories.”

RIC J: Who are you looking forward to welcoming near you?

D: You are already in the devil’s trap – so no one else.

RIC J: Do you remember having smiled one day?

D: In Prague, sitting on the streets looking at a street performer, it was sunny, I was happy. I was young. I think I smiled.

RIC J: Tell me your last night.

D: Last night was boring – I had beans and some mild chamomile tea for dinner, some yogurt and berries for dessert. I went to sleep early. The world has no need for the devil every day. On the days the world doesn’t need me, I sleep.

RIC J: Take this mirror, look, what do you see?

D: I see your face.

RIC J: In memory of a Sufi patient, what is your definition of life, in two words?

D: Call me.

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