Jean Genet --- Solitary pleasures --- Our Lady of the Flowers (4)

(For an explanation, please visit the first Genet post, here)

It was a good thing that I raised egoistic masturbation to the dignity of a cult! I have only to begin the gesture and a kind of unclean and supernatural transposition displaces the truth. Everything within me turns worshipper. The external vision of the accessories of my desire isolates me, far from the world.
Pleasure of the solitary, gesture of solitude that makes you sufficient unto yourself, possessing intimately others who serve your pleasure without their suspecting it, a pleasure that gives to your most casual gestures, even when you are up and about, that air of supreme indifference towards everyone and also a certain awkward manner that, if you have gone to bed with a boy, makes you feel as if you have bumped your head against a granite slab. 


I've got lots of time for making my fingers fly! Ten years to go! My good, my gentle friend, my cell! My sweet retreat, mine alone, I love you so! If I had to live in all freedom in another city, I would first go to prison to acknowledge my own, those of my race, and also to find you there.
Yesterday I was summoned by the examining−magistrate. From the Sante to the Law Court, the jolting and the smell of the police−wagon had nauseated me. I appeared before the judge as white as a sheet.


As soon as I entered his chambers, I was struck by the desolateness, despite the dusty and secret flowering of the criminal files, resulting from the presence of the smashed violin that Divine also saw. And, because of that Christ, I was open to pity. Because of it and of the dream in which my victim came to forgive me. In fact, the judge smiled at me very kindly. I recognized my victim's smile in my dream and recalled, or realized again, that he himself was supposed to have been both a judge on a bench, whom I confused perhaps intentionally with the examining−magistrate, and an examining−magistrate, knowing that I had been pardoned by him, feeling tranquil and sure, not with a certainty resulting from logic, but out of a desire for peace, a desire to return to the life of men (the desire that makes Darling serve the police so as to return to his place among human beings through having served order, and at the same time to depart from the human through deliberate baseness), sure that everything had been forgotten, hypnotized by the pardon, with a sense of confidence, I confessed.
The clerk recorded the confession, which I signed.

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