Schiefe Zähne
Abandono Europa - a coloring book

Joie de vivre

From the boat: Champagne, raw ham, diet coke, gruyere! Black or white bread? Black. Okay! Pinot Noir wine! Etc... A few minutes later I have magically in my bed a silver tray with all my whims and a hand written menu listing them in soft black pencil. Also as an extra present: a suspicious silk nightgown. Mom, close the door! This is the last order I give to my slave for the moment. She obeys by lowering her dark blue eyes and with submissive happiness of reliving her role in the symbiosis that united her to my father, until his death. I'm lying (In the bedroom that my father used to lock himself in during his crises, perfectly furnished for that; the walls fully cushioned and upholstered with soft rhinoceros suede) watching a fami- ly VHS of 1989 on a giant Samsung TV: my father gave me little pecks in the mouth repeatedly like a game when I was two years old... Surely after taking cocaine hidden in the bathroom he kissed me on the mouth...
Anyway I have no memory of that, probably because that part of my brain is occupied by the life and adventures of my father...
I'm not afraid of getting fat; my Joie de Vivre guides my instincts. Did you know that Paul Verhoeven had the idea of taking the panties off in that scene with Sharon Stone even if it was not written in the script...? I have the most interesting nose, the best mouth, Cleopatra's eyes, I have one of the best asses in the world that protects me from everything, I am Perfect, I am, perfect, my name is Victoria Colmegna, I am the best artist in the world.

I'll kill you

I'm sleeping a deep revolting nap in my mother's bed. She had passionately given me a pink pill helped by Norma, our cook. They adored having me there crying again, desperately naked after my anxious collapse, requesting or almost imploring for a specific medium to accomplish the final solution. (To end the cause of this non sense torment).
I heard murmurs, whispers about me going to jail. She had vehemently said I was crazy and will not consent me this time... Was it all a dream? Suddenly I wake up still feeling dizzy. Besides me lies a truculent horrific figure covered in the sheets: I discover a something that looks like an old tennis racket bag but feels too heavy. My shaking hands are already opening the zipper to find the rifle and a whisky bottle. I'm in an angry exhilaration and thrill anticipation I never felt before.
I laugh very loud and irrationally but I understand her opinion in the back of my head: Do it now, I will never be an impediment to your cravings. Will you come to dinner afterwards? I walk trough the gloomy corridor with my new toys...


I had organized "Artchie" (in a last attempt to retain him and impress him with my power) a show in the Kavanagh building where Sotheby's used to be. Artchie (who does not speak a word in Spanish) was drunk, ready for another performance of violence, sadism, anger and self-pity to make me suffer again in front of the guests. "Some of this I must like," I think ... or: -Some of this you should like- repeats Constance Shaffner's mother (a neighbor of the building) when she appears and re- commends me a serum for the face from Entre Rios (between rivers) as I reveal her another makeup tip. She tells me about a sorcerer whom she consults. We agree that I would take an appointment with him to go together next time, because...she has to take me...

Mexico all-inclusive

A young woman, me, abandoned by her foreign boyfriend agrees to spend a few days in an all-inclusive with her mother and her "new friend": an old man who disgusts her because he occupies the place of her beloved father, still feeling the pain of his loss. She goes through the days between the hotel lobbies, pools and free buffets with feelings of disgust that contrast sharply with the world overflowing with colors and smells; a non stop soundtrack of Christmas carols that comes from inside fake rocks and Christmas trees that mark the entrances to the different wings of the condominium.

She can somehow detect the cherry shampoo from across tables in the thematic restaurants, without even knowing the cause of ... her nausea.

Excerpt from: Espá, an autobiography by Victoria Colmegna. To be released by Editorial Mansalva