Why do I want my texts to be read?
Why do I keep on coming back on what I’ve said?
Why all the fuss and I’m not even dead?

Because people keep on asking me
the same old things, and I can’t remember
what I’ve said, if I don’t see it as words to be read.

Never mind if it is art, or smart,
but it is true?
True to what?
True to you, of course.

‘My baby whispers in my ear mmmmm… Sweet Nothings…
He knows the things I like to hear…’

 


Always true. Written in 1997 [together with Valentines Day] as Epilogue for the first edition of Marlene Dumas, Sweet Nothings. Notes and Texts, Galerie Paul Andriesse and De Balie Publishers Amsterdam, 1998; also included in the second edition (revised and expanded) Koenig Books London, 2014.


 

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