Guillaume Jannes, I fear I am becoming a God
master beeldende kunsten
Mentoren / Mentors:
Someone called me a translation of crushed water.
As if I had never become more than a puddle of two liters of amniotic fluid between my mother’s legs.
As if I were mopped up and wrung out in the porcelain bowl where, seventeen years later, I would count the cracks in my toenails with a bottle of liquor and a broken heart.
As if the purple-blue-yellow body that let out their first cry that same night wasn’t really mine.
It’s beautiful how your skin touches my fingertips, how my basalt rocks nestle in the whites of your eyes, how my blood tastes like a glass of fresh ginger tea, how my pine trees kiss your clouds.
Groetjes, je kapoen Guillaume
– Ocean Vuong, Time Is a Mother