Caracalla

RIC: Caracalla, why did you agree to speak to us today?

C: I will tell you about the world. Of the whole world… its emptiness. The full is made of emptiness. Tell me, and I’ll tell you. Ask, and I will answer.

RIC: What are your views on the kings of Rajasthan? Did they match the Romans?

C: The Maharajas? Little players. Small dicks. Gnats. Mosquito that thinks it’s a tiger.

RIC: What is your favourite recipe that cannot be cooked anymore?

C: Garlic and oregano placenta, a drizzle of olive oil, a dash of spiced menstruation blood, and your tears on it.

RIC:Your favourite cocktail?

C: Your milk, at the source.

RIC: Tell us, would you prefer murder or sex? What is more passionate?

C: One should not end without the other, let it be one, let it be the other.

RIC: Can death be a dance?

C: What are the dances of death if not death dancing a tango with life?

RIC: Your favourite James Bond film.

C: You only leave twice.

RIC: What was your favourite activity to do in the Roman Baths?

C: Worshipping in caldarium.

RIC: Which current world leader is your reincarnation?

C: He has just been born, wait until he grows up, until he becomes strong like a lion, and cruel like a lioness, let him bare his fangs, let him claw, let him roar and tear. You will recognize him among a thousand. You’ll know.

RIC: Your views on Machiavelli? On Sodom and Gomorrah?

C: There is me in him. There is me in these cities. Traces of me. Dirty slag, drippings of the worst you can imagine. Do you see the worst? I’m even worse than worse. I am beyond evil.

RIC: Who is the most interesting prisoner you ever met?

C: Caesar Borgia. He could have been my spiritual son. but he disappointed me. Not enough deaths. Not enough blood. Barely enough stupor and lust. Just enough to pass on to the posterity of the crime.

RIC: Your preferred designer. Whose suit would you wear to your own funeral?

C: Hugo Boss. This couturier is intrinsically linked to death.

RIC: Is there a Satan?

C: Half-open your thighs: there, at the very top, there he is, crouching in the shade and the humidity.

RIC: In memory of a Sufi patient, please describe life in two words.

C: Die hard.

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