Pink room

All rooms look alike, but this one is pink, resembling a big theater, a chaos of words and desires. All rooms look alike, except that this one is continually crossed by a blade of light.
This pink room where Linda Tuloup takes us, this room, this song, with a window on bodies.
After what storm, after what shipwreak, do we arrive, spectators of these exhausted bodies, grounded, rolling, unrolling in slow waves on the sheets ?
All rooms look alike, all bodies assemble. Linda Tuloup, with these words - "come" - "now" - "you're crazy" .... - speaks of presences, but never shows the Other One : lovers, like all men, are phantoms.
Maybe they are absent, gone on a trip, smoking a cigarette in the kitchen, going home to their wives?
It's a pink room, a hotel room, a room for life: a room for writing, a room of tears where we part and meet again, a room where the sheets are sometimes icey, sometimes torn and burning, no one knows, and so what. We are invited to take a look.

Hervé Baudat
I want you
It's over
Tell me
I'm afraid
Forget me
You're crazy
Where are you ?
Your hands
Touch me
Are you crying ?