Yoko Ono

women's room in paris

 

Written by Jorge Artajo in 2003

I heard a woman's cough in a room in the distance. Was she ill? Was she trying to talk? Was she hiding some ache? Was it a simple interruption of her thoughts? Or was she trying to make herself visible?

I came into a blue room where I was surrounded by XXI mirrors on the walls that started moving around me at the same speed as the clouds. I saw my changing face in them, turning into thousand different visages. Some I recognize, some not. Some look at me with love, some with hatred, some with indifference. I lived a different life with every turn. Born and dead a thousand times I had the same pains, tenderness, fears, joys and tortures. I wish I could make come true all those dreams dangling on the wish tree.

In the spare room I saw a woman sitting by the window lost in her thoughts and recalls while watching the trees and the buildings in front of her. Her bright eyes... ("Hey, yoke, yoki, yoyo, yoho!")...slowly became cloudy...("Why is calling somebody such a difficult thing to do?")... foggy...("I feel something strange is happening")... blinded... ("Never is a long time. Maybe death has resolved it all")...stormy...("That Jap. You never know what she's thinking")... rainy...(Hate is an awkward way of love")...and bright again... ...("All we have to do is to just admire each other and love each other"). The trees and the buildings where still there shining through the window, as usual ("24 hours a day"). She took a sip of coffee and started to scribble something on a piece of paper.

From the dark room at the back, came a strange sound. It seemed like if several women were sighing, whispering, purring, grunting and crying at the same time. I came in very carefully. There were six tv sets with different images of a woman lying still on a bed. A fly was walking, trotting and jumping over her. It seemed that the fly was looking for some hole to get into the woman's body. The woman stayed still with her mouth closed, so the mixing of the different sounds made by women voices, most of them of real pleasure, appeared to be the voices of the fly that by this time was strolling through the nipples of the woman, her pubic hair and her hairy armpits. Now she is walking over the outside lips of vagina that is moving a little, like if it was calling the fly to come inside. In fact there is a moment that I cannot see the fly, but just the open and moving sex of the woman, half covered by the pubic hair. Now there are several flies over the woman's body. Two flies meet and seem to exchange some information (do I hear a laugh?) Now the thing stops to be funny and I saw the flies like a bunch of rapists. How could I wish to be the fly some minutes ago? I'm ashamed! There is a window now and the images of some roofs in the outside, but I don't think the flies will go out, they will stay abusing of the lying woman, like all the predators do, until there will be nothing left. Only the mind of the woman can escape through that window, I think.

On the floor outside the dark room there was a sky tv as a permanent reminder of the world outside, a metaphor of freedom and diversity. A call to fly in the real sky.

On the wall:
9 faces 9 women 9 expressions 9 ages 9 memories 9 reflections:
"I must ...."
"Could I...."
"Why do I..."
"I should..."
"I would like..."
"What if I..."
"I'm going to..."
"Mmm..."
"What are you looking at !?"

A woman sitting on a chair called me from a stage. "Je vous aime", she told me, and handed me some big scissors. She wanted me to cut her. I couldn't. I thought of cutting a piece of my own shirt instead and let it at her feet, but what the hell!, nobody is going to be cut in here anymore, so I destroyed the scissors and kissed her goodbye before leaving the room with a wide open smile.

 

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