RIC: What are you made of, you red kimono?
RK: I am made of menstrual blood and the juice of a thousand blood oranges.
RIC: How old are you?
RK: I am as old as your first sex dream.
RIC: Which life did you prefer to dress?
RK: I never preferred to dress. I only preferred to undress.
RIC: What skin do you remember?
RK: I remember a mix of my own skin and yours.
RIC: Do you remember a hand that untied you, half opened, then knocked you to down to the ground?
RK: I don’t just remember the hand. I remember the whole body. Each part.
RIC: What smells did you take care of?
RK: Bombay gin, vetiver, Fragonard’s Emilie, and fish. Too much fish.
RIC: There is a spot next to the right breast, tell me its story.
RK: There was a man in my last life who used to suck a particular spot on my right breast each time we made love (millions of times). So, in this life I was born with a tiny red spot *exactly* there. Waiting for him to suck it.
RIC: Who would you like to be on, right now, or not to be?
RIC: In memory of a Sufi patient, please define life in two words.
RK: Untie me.