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About Toulouse

Sketchy streets, I roam—anger boils, man, at the pimps. Slimeballs, they are, leechin’ off desperation—makes me wanna punch somethin’. Little fact, though—did ya know, oldest gig ever, prostitution is? Babylon, 2400 BC, temple gals—sacred hookin’, wild, huh? History’s kinky, yo. “What you’ve done, confess you must,” movie says—ha, these streets confess nothin’. Stink of sweat, cheap perfume—real as my ink-stained fingers.

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The poem “Handicap,” which was included in the edi- tion of Picabia's writings edited by Olivier Revault d'Allonnes in , was originally.

I live here in Allonnes, and lemme say, it's a wild mix. You're gonna find narrow streets like Rue de la Digue and Rue des Tilleuls. Sometimes I'm stompin’ past them, callin’ "Bro, what's up?" as I head to my massage den. I got a little spot right near the old church – ya know, that ancient ruin vibe. Man, it gives me major "Son of Saul" feels. Like, sometimes I'd see somethin’ and think, "What's real, what's not, brother?" – just like in that crazy movie, man.

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