RIC: Can the sockets without eyes still see? 

C: I am the eyes that hear, I am the hands that listen, I am the skin that sees, I am the mouth that smells, I am the ears that taste.

RIC: What does it feel like being buried underground? 

C:What I love is to be in your interior, my love, more than in the interior of the earth. You’re just as wet, but so much warmer and deeper.

RIC: What do you guys think about Paris? 

C: Jaipur is the city of sex, Paris is the city of love.

RIC: Do you party every night once the visitors leave? 

C: The skeletons you see here are the remains of everyone I exhausted in my bed. They came so much, ejaculated so much that they dried out.

RIC: Do skeletons still need food? 

C: They feed on the cries of my lust. 

RIC: What is the best thing you have ever witnessed? 

C: To be penetrated through every hole, like countless underground passages explored by underground miners. Impaled. Drilled. And this sperm which gushed on me from all sides like sweet oil.

RIC: Do you ever visit the living like the living visit the dead? 

C: Visit the interior of the earth and you will find occult sex. 

RIC: Is there another city of the dead under you? 

C: Jaipur. Through my vagina, the two cities communicate. Look, put your rod, put your hand, put your mouth, put your eyes, you will see the palace of the winds.

RIC: How cold it is there? 

C: When you’re here, it’s so hot…

RIC: Would you like cigarettes or glasses of wine? 

C: A cigarette is too small, stick me a cigar. And pour me some good wine.

RIC: If you could be under any other city, which one would it be? 

C: Your city, my love. There are secret doors, secret passages, shortcuts. Distance is nothing, time does not exist, perspective is a human invention. I am where you are, I am inside you when you blink, I am deep inside you when you exhale, you swallow me on demand, our skins are stuck together in a eyelash beat. 

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

C: Quite simply.