Original subtitles

Now I shall reveal.

Listen.

In a solitary place like air or light.

There is something I cannot grasp.

Kisses...

Knives...

Like a scorpion motionless in the sand,

weary, without flesh.

Two women holding each other.

You're under one's dress.

You have to get out.

You can't see a thing.

In the scorpion's tail,

there's a child's face breathing through the stinger.

You listen to his slow breathing,

talking to you like silence.

I see the rain fall drop by drop, in your ear.

Listen. There's no mistake.

I see a woman coming closer.

She comes from the East,

where people are small and the territories vast

To teach you confused words,

and her teeth bite the shadows -

a thing you must master

before the dissolution of your body;

this body you give to others, each time, always more.

They take your flesh, dismember it and nourish themselves.

But you're still there,

seeing without being seen and without wanting to see.

Do you remember?

It's dusk.

They're all in the twilight,

desperate and already ugly,

but all seeking pleasure,

some kind of satisfaction and integrity.

They seek to fill in the void inside themselves.

It's unbearable,

to remain face to face with yourself.

This, too, is a form of solitude.

We don't understand

that it exists in us as in the other.

Fear is always there,

the fear of becoming unsuitable.

Disease and death...

It's painful.

There is a sense of an ending,

but it remains vague.

Everywhere there are swindles, wounds,

betrayals.

People don't see, they don't realize.

Their judgements are superficial.

It's a one-way trip.

They live off a night.

They live off a dose.

They live off a client.

Tomorrow, there will be another client,

and the previous one will be forgotten.

His name, his appearance will not be remembered.

Sex can bring pleasure,

but the girls don't want this pleasure.

They like neither the sun nor the light of day.

I don't judge them, I can't.

We lack physical and moral strength.

We don't feel pleasure,

just like marionettes in a theater.

You dream about the end of all this.

Each point has its coordinates.

We only have to accept that chaos exists.

An unconscious sensation without memory.

The woman ends up being self-sufficient,

able to lead instead of being submissive.

She chooses her prey.

But she also happens to be weak,

and this weakness is precious to her.

It leaves possibilities open.

We're driven by fear and love.

One has to sacrifice one's self. One's character,

one's desires... disappear.

It's both happiness and suffering.

My eyes and my heart are closed.

I don't want to witness pain.

I don't like to look at corpses.

They're frightening.

Imagining is like seeing.

Even in my dreams,

I never see anything that really hurts me.

I have no principles.

My hands don't shake.

I took the side of fearless acceptance.

I know I may die.

I know pleasure doesn't last.

But I can't renounce passion yet.

I'm too full of life to die.

I want to believe I haven't gone mad.

I try to maintain

a semblance of normality, of adequacy,

to get as close as I can to this state of mind

in which I can receive everything more directly.

Without tensions.

Without obligations.

My heart has been broken.

Pay, fuck, leave, hit the road!

I don't like love.

Fuck, pay, and leave!

No love, no way.

Right now, I don't want to love anyone.

No love.

I'm not interested in loving anyone.

No love or anything like that.

Fuck, pay, and get out!

I hate love and all those things.

I don't like it.

I loathe it.

I don't love anyone.

The air, outside, seems different.

Things happen beyond my will.

I'm not on guard. What happens happens.

What will happen will happen.

When nobody takes me, I feel destroyed.

Here, we bury the dead and we fuck the living.

I don't know where I am.

When I woke up, I no longer felt anything.

I was an empty body, with no soul.

I no longer had desires.

I no longer had needs.

I was free.

Just a piece of cold meat unable to move.

I was no longer breathing and it felt good...

better than ever before.

But this fear, this fear of the unknown...

I thought I wouldn't come back.

I felt the substance spreading slowly.

It flowed through my veins,

and then my body became hot.

I was lying down, eyes wide open.

I started to see.

I wanted to feel more.

I'm afraid of myself and of you.

When I was lying next to you, after we fucked,

for a moment, I wasn't afraid anymore.

I don't have the right to delude myself about men,

or to fear them.

All they want of me is my body.

Then they become like animals.

Sometimes I reject them,

sometimes I give them more than they expect.

I control their desire, but I don't desire them.

There's no place for feelings.

I have to be strong,

to stay alive one more day...

But there's something missing.

Fear boxes me in.

My body's getting weaker.

I want to disappear.

When I cum, there's no more pain.

If you want me to be quiet, I'll be quiet.

I'll remain silent.

I sense that your desire and hunger have their limits.

But that night they were infinite.

I was like some food being served to you,

I had to let you eat me, until you become satiated.

I was afraid

because I didn't know you,

and you didn't know me.

You looked hungry.

Sometimes I understand your desire.

The pursuit of pleasure is full of sadness.

Some people ask me:

'you want to fuck me?'

And I reply:

'If I sleep with you, will love you me in return?'

This hurts me.

I cry laughing.

They pay with their money, I pay with my body.

You don't say a word.

You and me, we're getting closer to each other.

I take care of you.

But why don't you take care of me?

Actions are more coherent than words.

I also have lust, desire,

the fire of passion in me.

Our relationship isn't real.

Once the pleasure is consumed, we're free to leave.

But if we wanted it that way,

our relationship could be real.

I don't have any power over you.

I know you want me.

I'm like a precious stone in the dark,

that no-one has found.

Night burns up my life.

I have to get what I want.

But in the end, I'm left alone with my shadow.

When I'm on ice,

I don't feel lust or desire...

I myself become desire.

I exist in this world.

Just like you, I feel sadness, solitude.

I want.

I need.

I have no-one.

I'm alone and still looking.

But when the effects of the ice wear off,

it's like dying.

You know that what's concealed

is more powerful than what's said.

You ask me why I'm here,

waiting for an answer,

and you don't realize that I might also

be in the process of making up a story,

that answers are useless.

That's why we met:

because you wanted it that way,

because you could remember my name.

It's like being on the edge of the abyss,

without knowing why.

But we let ourselves fall,

without knowing how far to the bottom.

We share only a space.

While you repeat again and again

that you don't have enough strength for anyone else.

We forget that the blood is diseased -

the death of the body at the hands of the body...

We no longer pay attention to dreams.

They mean nothing.

Breath, unconsciousness,

despair at not being able to go any further.

The acceleration of the blood, the abandonment...

If you prefer dogs,

it's because they don't ask questions.

They assume nothing.

Instinct barks because of the body's needs,

nothing more.

You and me, we hide.

You tell me not to talk about love...

I reply that I can't discuss

what I know nothing about.

But I'm not a dog. I don't bark.

I'm the little girl who speaks in low voice,

who knows she'll get no answer.

Nothing can be built on ashes.

I watch you mixing the nicotine pellets

with the rest of the crack...

One body embraces the other,

a body that can't be saved,

that seeks squalor.

When all that remains is the echo of a useless confession.

I'm sick and I don't want to die -

not yet...

We keep trying to find ourselves and fighting with each other.

We hit each other with heavy caresses,

until it hurts...

as if it was the only thing

we could give to each other.

We haven't planned anything.

Words are scarce,

there's not enough room.

Then, the hidden becomes tangible:

the blood, the dark eyes, the taut veins...

I tell you not to hurt yourself

and you leave.

The water in the sink overflows on the floor...

Everything happens in front of the mirror.

We don't know each other,

words have no meaning.

You want answers,

but you never give them.

Because this is your story,

yours to pervert, to soil, to devour it.

I don't have much to lose either.

All this time,

we've been standing on the edge of the abyss.

It's time we let ourselves fall.

When man flees mankind, does he encounter the animal?

We don't speak the same language,

we don't utter the same words.

You lose everything because you proceed with no destination.

There's no other way for you.

Fear triumphs over you and reaches your brain.

Don't stay on your own. Ahead of you

it waits patiently.

When Yama enters the body,

the drug shows the way.

Because we're thinking about sex

there's no other path we can take.

It's an obscure journey...

because Yama gives the strength to move forward.

But this strength escapes control.

It leads us to chaos.

A mixture of joy and fear...

The joy and fear wear off...

and the unbearable void will remain.

Many people cut their wrists.

They smoke Yama

and their body becomes dark and fetid.

They smoke ice

and their body becomes pale and odorless.

The smoke of ice is strong and devious.

It insinuates its way into everything,

into the blood, into the brain.

Those who don't smoke

can only obey...

work for money.

Society and law detest us

because we're not afraid anymore.

We can fuck, or play.

Play is the last possible choice.

You don't manage to sleep, by night or day.

You haven't told anyone where you live.

The police are looking for you.

The dealers are after you, to do you harm.

Madness awaits you

but your thirst and passion are endless.

I don't know how many men I've slept with.

You don't remember

how many girls you've slept with.

Often,

I tell myself that you must be sick too.

Then I leave,

and I'm afraid for you.

My body is fragile.

My body is burned.

I don't know if I'm sick.

I never wanted to know.

Because of extreme excitement and boundless pleasure,

We smoked and we fucked without a rubber,

again and again.

You still think too much.

You don't have to, because you're on your own.

Fear burns you from the inside.

You have to make one more step,

live without these last fears.

Any gesture,

any action is better than thought.

You want me one more time.

I know

that I feel,

and that I'm alive.

I can neither advance nor retreat.

I have a secret

that can't be revealed through words.

I'm a shadow in your heart

and a lie in your mind.

Nothing can stop me.

I was there, that first night,

With Srei Leah and you.

I couldn't tell you

that she was sick

because she was my friend.

You fucked her.

She was the one who told you she was sick.

You didn't want any protection.

She didn't want to do you any harm.

She's gone now.

My patience knew no boundaries.

I only thought of pleasure

and I needed you to come and look for me.

I was like a mindless beast.

I forgot everything.

I've destroyed and created with equal strength.

I call you when night falls.

I take you,

and you follow me down a dead end.

I'm dust.

I'm a burning flame

and a cold flame.

I'm your darkness.

I exist through your gaze.

I'm like an open wound in this universe.

I introduce you to death

and when you hear me

it's as if I dictate your thoughts.

You hesitate, but you comply.

Learn to live without fear

and nothing will stop you.

Pleasure won't leave room

for anything else.

Even if there's nothing you can do about death

don't forget...

we live in the memory

of those who are gone,

of those taken away by disease.

We still have joy.

We still have madness.

I'll forget you and you'll forget me too...

I'm just another one of those girls.

A girl whose name you've forgotten...

a girl who has forgotten her own name.

There's nothing left.

I'm very, very sick,

with a thousand diagnoses sewn under the skin.

The white powder

is the only breathable thing.

I'm looking for it wherever I go.

Small bags, small round pills

to be swallowed with a bright liquid.

It's not water.

Everything that matters is white.

If paradise exists,

then it is also white and powdered.

We fucked for the first time

on my first day as a hooker.

I wanted to tear your face to shreds.

The skin that slowly sticks to your body,

viscous, wrinkling...

I'm on the sidewalk waiting to be crushed.

I don't want to get in the car

with this disgusting guy.

But I do it, anyway, I sit,

legs spread and mouth open,

waiting for the worst...

The mouth, the mouth full of flies.

I live in a men's world.

Men don't have faces.

The bodies I lie upon,

they enter my body like thieves.

They are never real.

And you're there.

you're not a man, you're me. You're a paradox.

You walk, you're there, erect,

you embrace me and die in my hands.

You block my view with your shadow.

Each day slowly turns into night.

I watch you and I feel this lust deep down inside me.

I know it shouldn't be like this,

that air is reflected in the mirror

whenever you look at me.

Be that as it may, flesh drives me crazy.

When I sleep with you

and you gently lay your hand,

barely moving, on my sex,

it's more intense than blows and cuts,

disguises and abuse.

I approach you. You don't want to know me.

You don't want to hear my trembling.

You just want to hear me talk

and to capture my face on your camera.

Two forms of destruction...

I talk while slowly tearing my skin...

Aside from my own death, my biggest fantasy

is to cut you into pieces

or flay you and eat you, to your soul.

I can't sleep

under the weight of your diseased body.

The step I have to get over, in order to feel something, is rough,

stony, narcotic.

After sex, the entire world becomes pornographic.

A switch we turn on and off.

As I talk to you, I turn inward

into impossible positions.

I wait

for the blows in the back of my head

to cease before they tap against my eyes.

In this world of sweaty hands and embraces,

the sweat settles on the soul

like a membrane of ice.

I want my skin to come alive.

I don't even know

if there is blood right under the skin.

I cut it, burn it, hit it against various objects.

I can't get out what's inside.

The world, the houses, the asphalt and your face

remain invisible.

I walk with the moon in my eyes,

I try to shed light on something that is already too well-lit.

Light is like a virus in my eyes,

eyes firm but swollen.

When I'm stoned, I devour the world.

It's the only kind of eating I can stand.

When I chew what I eat,

and find holes inside the food, I get aggressive

and I can't help vomiting it all out.

Void takes up all the room.

This gives me nausea, stuffing food

in a body that isn't a body.

My body never belonged to me.

This is why I sell it.

I read biology books,

I dream of dissecting bodies.

I try to imagine the different parts,

the spine, the skull,

the blood, the veins, the skin, and you,

like a real being.

Fear invades everything I see and hear.

Fear is there, like some living creature,

in the space between the eyes, the temples and the ears.

I'm afraid, I'm very afraid

of being unable to keep in there the image your face, instead.

Being inside you...

Sometimes I see nothing but a reflection in your eyes.

Other times, I see nothing.

Like a massive void, a tearing.

What am I going to do with all these bodies?

Tell me,

what am I going to do with all these fucking bodies?

They are there, before my eyes,

like air bubbles in the water.

So I try to escape you.

I try to put on all your faces,

all your masks, your eyes.

All I want is to suck...

I wipe, I put in a tampon

and I stagger towards a life of shit and piss.

The eyes glide across the street as if it were a screen.

People move with strange spasms.

There's something grotesque in their bodies.

They walk, erect,

stretching upwards, spittle on their lips.

In the mirrors, I see my own body.

A gross skin covers my face.

A succession of discharges and excretions...

There are so many inside my head.

I have the impression that it breaks from within.

I can't stand being locked inside my head any longer.

At night, you can't trust

the hands of the watch -

a movement that paralyzes the body.

Whatever I see twists my guts

wherever I go.

The speed devours an empty core

and that core is me.

To survive, we must flee.

I am an illusion

and you followed me.

You told me you had your reasons...

but you're just a useless witness.

You tried to get away from me.

You fed my pleasure with my pain.

To reach me, you destroy yourself.

We don't eat,

we have no more strength.

Addiction eats you from inside.

My demons live under my skin.

They are at home.

Your silence takes me in a place where I get lost.

My time is more valuable than my body.

We live with the choices we make

and the pain becomes a powerful ally.

I prepare the ground for all of my grief.

Everything suddenly becomes vital and confused.

But the solitude makes me stronger.

I want to feel...

I just want to be the whore that you fuck one night...

I can't escape.

I blame you.

I have no regrets. Just lust or chaos...

I left so many times before

because hustling starts to feel more like begging.

Because I'm never sure if I will come out unharmed.

But I look in the mirror

and I know for myself that this body is mine.

Maybe it's the Xanax that I have to pop

or the liquor I have to down to get through this.

I don't remember many of their faces,

just a few, here and there.

Maybe a bit of a room.

It's all a blur.

Looking around the space,

making sure there's a pathway to the door...

to make sure I can get out...

Always expecting the worst.

Hoping that they think I'm crazier than they are.

Looking around for anything that could be a weapon.

It never crossed their minds to cross that line,

to go too far.

I had to step back and enter the night.

Looking back,

it seems like it never happened.

Hours of dark rooms, shadows,

men screaming

and looking up inside you,

Men wanting my body

It's never enough.

We're just there.

Bleached blonde on coke and diet pills.

Such a short time.

You made me cry.

You said my tears were a lie.

They were true.

I don't cry on purpose.

It then becomes a lie for both of us.

We are looking at each other,

seeing what we don't wanna see.

This place is small.

You never really held me.

We could meet up in hell and be dead again.

I gave my flesh to your suffering.

When you're not there my anger goes away.

The sadness drains the anger away.

and I dream that others do not exist.

Skin is just skin, in the dark.

You can't judge me.

It's not fucking, it's more like just lying there.

It's not about saying yes,

it's about not saying no.

I don't feel used by men,

but by myself.

I am your flesh,

the echo of your tears.

I'm inaccessible to those who dig the entrance of my womb.

You fall in me, each time a little more.

I live in the ignorance of myself.

I play a hundred characters.

I am the void.

I wait for you.

I need you to come to me.

My patience is infinite.

There's no more words, no more emotions.

Men pass through me.

I feel through their desire, it comes and goes.

It doesn't help me more than a moment of ecstasy.

It's so light, here.

What to do with all this light?