RIC: Caravaggio, why did you agree to talk to us today?
C: You know, bitch, I’m pissing off here in Hell. There’s even more alcohol left, so talking to you, answering your fucking questions, is getting out of all this shit for a few minutes … Any chance is good to take.
RIC: Why does death, sickness, blood inspire you?
C: But because that’s life, the fucking life. Look at you. You are as beautiful as a heart, with your apple breasts like an Indian goddess (that you want to squeeze hard with both hands, and to kiss, to lick, until you no longer have saliva …), your belly so well drawn, your buttocks cut with a knife that you want to smash … your neck, your hair, your mouth … But ask yourself a simple and fucking question: this is only the surface. The truth is, underneath there is only blood, lymph, mucus. This is the absolute, relentless truth.
RIC: What is light?
C: The light ? What a shit question. It’s this oil lamp that trembles in the wind and mysteriously lights up your naked body against mine.
RIC: What is the colour red?
C: The tip of your breasts when I lick them greedily for hours.
RIC: If you could live on the sun, which part of the sun would you live on?
C: In his navel, that’s where life appeared. The navel is the sex of the sun. Don’t look … this is neopythagoreanism.
RIC: If you could paint the 2020 pandemic, what would your painting be like?
C: I would paint blood on a mask, or The Masked Gorgon, but over and over again with blood.
RIC: Who is the woman (or man) that you love or loved?
C: You, even though I don’t know if some days you’re a man or a woman … I knew you would come back.
RIC: Which part of your beloved’s body would you paint? Why?
C: Vagina. Red, gooey, wet, hot, mysterious, fragrant: everything I love.
RIC: Did Chinnamasta appear to you in a dream?
C: Every night, every dream: you have your period and we make love, over and over, over and over. Nothing can stop us. Neither the goddess nor the blood.
RIC: Imagine you are on the beach in the Bahamas, what are you drinking?
C: Cocktail with love juice
RIC: Which car would you like to drive?
C: None. I do not drive. I am being driven.
RIC: Which part of your beloved’s body would you like to suck? Why?
C: I already answered you, aren’t you listening to me?
RIC: Bitter lemon or bitter almonds?
C: First your almond, then my lemon. is that okay with you?
RIC: In memory of a Sufi patient, please define life in two words.
C: Bloody rules
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