In his car, on the way to Paris, I was thinking about all of you, and how I will tell you my story, and how you will add it, add me, to the big book of the undeads. While I was part of the situation, I could already describe it from above; while the story was taking place, I could already tell it in past tense. And in those moments, when I was standing a few steps forward in time, and a few steps higher in space, I had already decided, that this is the story that I will tell: of him and myself. The story of the tie-guy from Rennes, that I’ll probably never meet again, and mine, full of Crystal Meth, in the car, looking at the road; Without shirts, 20 years old or ageless, pupil-less and beautiful, his one hand is on the steering wheel, the other one is grabbing my balls.
At some point, his hand leaves the steering wheel, the car speeds. He directs its rear-view mirror to my face while lighting it with a little flashlight. I look into the mirror, but it shows an empty chair, no reflection. I turn the mirror to his direction and in the mirror I see, his chair is empty too.


“Can we not stay together a little while longer, my lovely man? It’s quite a long while until the sunrise.”

An empty car is now driving on the highway from Rennes to Paris’ outskirts. One might think that no one’s sitting in it and that the car drives itself, but one would never know how loudly we laughed, in the pearly glow of the tiny light that was flashing on and off, on and off.


Taken from the film: Nosferatu (a symphony of horror)

Premiere: 30.11.2018, Theater Lübeck
Directed & choreographed by Marie Bues/Nicki Liszta

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