From my dimly lit room in one of the many anonymous lanes situated in the back of all the known and unknown cities, I laugh at writers, doctors, poets, artists, archaelogists, teachers, pilots, and the many little-known professions of the world. I practice the world’s oldest and truest profession. I have lit a cigarette. I am laughing. I am staring at my naked breasts, marked with a red spot. I am not wearing underwear. I never do. I am watching an Italian TV show. I can smell lilies grown in faraway gardens. Look at my body, no, just look at my vagina … there is no man that refuses me, bastard. Why are you standing outside, you animal … you think I don’t have a god … you little bastard, you think you can pity me? Hahaha I enjoy fucking more than your little mind – that is smaller than your dick – can understand. I don’t know your name so I am going to call you mon petite bite. No, you can’t leave … once you have entered my banlieu, you are not allowed to leave. That’s the motherfucking eternal law. Why? Because I said so. It’s a bitch, I know … so why don’t you enter this room before you enter my body? I am holding a knife. I will slit your throat if you refuse. In my turn, I trap little tasty dicks like you.

You know, I was not born to suck cocks all day long, sniff the armpits of men who have not showered for ages, lick their hairy balls and kiss them to the tonsils pretending to love them. I don’t like this job, it’s a pain. But it is a necessary penalty. In a small jar, I spit out these sperm droplets that I store day after day. I had thought, at the beginning, in a tantric approach, trying to reconstruct, vile man after vile man, this mass of fundamental substance from which we all come, sort of sea of ​​sperm (stupor, lust?) which we are born, one day, a long time ago, before our first life, the basic soup. But the work was too long, too spiritual, too metaphysical, and… I love alcohol too much.

So I ferment this divine substance, I have liters, the taste is quite good, and it works quite well with all this fructose… There are essences from Europe, Asia, Africa, from America, all those continents that flowed into me, and that flow down my throat now. Here is my new favorite drink, finished Bombay Sapphire Gin, here is sporl.

…

M & Mrs Hyde are the two tantric and trashy sides of a forgotten soul, with frequent Jungian mood, tiny red spot obsession, Bombay Sapphire passion, frequent insomnia, recurrent headaches, taste for Darjeeling, and fascination for words. Always travelling from East to West, and inversely.