'Le pays du soleil', a Group Show at Futura, Prague

I had friends
Dozens
They are all dead
Eaten away by worms
                           
I had a love
A great love
Disappeared
Carry on as if there is nothing amiss

I was young
I was beautiful
Now I look like a wreck

I’ve been left with humor as my last companion
Humor
Stray dogs
Well, no, humor, the sun, death, stray dogs and 
the big ol’ bottle
It should be called that way

And it would begin with:
I no longer believe in anything 

I am lightheaded
I forget everything
A large piece of Gruyere cheese
Pierced right through
I forget everything but that’s ok, I believe in nothing

You are going to die like everyone else
Nothing helps 
Not your morals
Not your convictions
Your good old righteous convictions

Hahaha

I think back on all these struggles
All these hypocrites
Who once, the room is packed
Join the cause

I roll around in it
You don't agree
But I bathe in it

You can find me in the back of a highway rest area
Skin swollen 
Red complexion
My hands will have doubled in size
And I would be mumbling
The same song

Mon chat
You are beautiful
When you dance
Your calves
Your arms
Your screams
Your knees slamming
You animate
You wobble
And you start again

Waiting for nothing  at all

— Ludovic Beillard