my name is coco bucugno and i don’t exist.

here’s the deal:

we were watching jules et jim on tv. at the scene where catherine suddenly jumps in the seine, the guys take her out and they all get on a carriage calmly, saying nothing, i blurted to him, who always said it is difficult to believe somebody like me actually exists in this world:
“see, she’s like me. people like me do exist.”
“yes.” he said. “only in movies.”
“so what? people are people.”
“no.” said he. “these are not people. they are ideas.”

if the only beings that i can relate to are fictitious, how do i know if i exist in reality? that i am not merely an idea, a character that someone just imagined? what is there to prove my existence in the physical world? a body? a name? these are of course no valid proof of physical existence, the dead have that too. some people say they see me, or they feel that they touch me, but come on, no jerking around in philosophy.

i simply feel if i didn’t eat, shit, talk or sleep, i’d still be existing in the same way i do now. there are only two certain things i know of myself: i know that i have a mind because i think (so exclusively that to me persons, actions, things, everything is either mentally provocative or… the remainder i simply dismiss). i also know that i have a vagina, because it produced life. that’s all.

so right here and now i revert to this virtual existence that allows me to be what i am. an idea. a character of mere mind and mere vagina. where it all originated. l’origine du monde. salut catherine, c’est très bien de vous voir ici.