This chess party was simply put, an intercourse between the black and the white. The aim was to make each of the chess pieces feel an ecstasy of sorts. If all the pieces of one team had blossomed, those of the other team could be said to have pleased them.
The black queen.
A crown of thorns bristling on her head, she wears a lace bra, a simple length of worn fabric about her hips… she is no one but the Poor Woman in the House of Incest, the Delta of Venus at Gagougnol Pélopidas’. She's an erotic and tempestuous woman of extremes : no move is barred for her.
Kings and queens.
The white king and queen, as an half-time clown and a double agent.
The black king and queen, as a global menestrel and a virgin-prostitute.
The black rook on the king’s side. She's armored wildly and with sophistication, like a naïve and ruthless woman. Her keep is full of bustling words, chimeras and other queer images. She's the opposite of a simple heart but she might worship parrots. She dreams like a scalded cat in the Hotel World and she laughs like Three Trapped Tigers. Better not to face her, whatever distance from her we may be, she has no mercy.
Queen castling.
Queens war.
The black rook and bishop on the queen’s side. The black rook is Apollo as an architect in the aqueous balance of his nightmares. Keenness and a sense of proportion that are looking at their dark, shifting and syrupy reflection. Imagine he is floating in the basement of the glorious building he is envisioning, as an eyeball would attempt to free itself from a foaming treacle full of sand and spines. Then he steadily reinforced his battlements against the aggressive textures, so that only amber and coton or soap and silk can filter through.
The black bishop is a cleric without a god, an emissary of the religion of the body, after the desertion of the verb. The scalpel is her holy water sprinkler. The sidelong glance – like a surgeon, cut for the very first time. She commands the right to electroshock to life or to numb it as it abates. She's the mad one who decides where madness starts and ends.
Dark encounter.
The black bishop on the king's side.
She's a girl and a boy, she's from east and west. She wears a male hat and a waistcoat over a Kali-black and blood sari. She's Ardhanarishwara as a fashionista. Indeed, the cleric who weaves the borders and mixes them together.
The black knight (on the king's side), surrounded by white pawns. She's the Arjuna of crafts. She fights kindly against her cousins, these kauravas of industry. With her leather belt and riding boots, she gallops chastely in her handmade clothes ; the color of the darkest night and the blackest sheep.
The black knight on the king's side, sandwiched between one knight and one rook of the white kingdom.
Defeated and triumphant.
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