I face so much jealousy as Marina Abramović. Why are you jealous? Ask. Use your voices to ask and sing it as a question. Now get up. Really? Now sit down. When your bodies get up, are the bodies stork birds or the pigeon or eagle? I am eagle. Why do you want to be eagle when you are only sparrows? Ha. I laugh at your baby beaks. What are you? A baby in a stroller rolling down a hill towards many cliffs. Ha, baby sparrows. What is your name? Madsun? Point this gun at me. Point this gun at me like you are eagle in your bones. Now, I want you —what’s your name? Brinney? — Brinney, you begin to read my eulogy while this one — name? Sloanes? — while Sloanes pours gasoline over my entire body. Begin. All of you, begin. Now, to be a soccer player you have to hate soccer. Keep pouring. Read louder. You must hate. Get rid of your cleats. Dispense with them. Stomp on them and play barefoot. Now, the ball is real, the grass is real, the posts are real, your opponents are real. You — I don’t need your name — you, light a match. Well, then go find one. Now, why are you jealous of Marina Abramović? Because I transform myself to be myself and you can’t be me. What is this magic? You fools — it’s not a soccer ball. It’s MoMA, it’s a million dollars, it’s perfume, it’s whatever eagles can grip in their talon toes. Take the energy from your opponent. Don’t be jealous of desire! Get desire bigger for yourselves. I am 70 years old but I look younger than Madsun, Brinney, and Sloanes because I have no jealousy — I have me. You must prepare yourself for you: be vegetarian, go on a cleanse, learn to sleep in short bursts, hold your pee, ignore the pee, and confront the abyss. Now, everyone put down their objects, your infernal orange slices. Everyone come and look into my eyes — one by one, look into my eyes. After I make you cry we will scrub these cow bones and we will weep and sing. This is all I can offer you.
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