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Ruth Biene / 45 min

I lay on the floor. On the white pillow.
Bag of salt, bag of victory.
I embrace it, caress it,
want to have it and keep it
I stand up slowly
caressing, grabbing, clawing the white bag
the more I grab it the more I rip it apart
out of the holes comes the white salt
and pours onto my golden shoes
I walk very slowly
leaving a white trace behind
as I reach the white plinth my bag is empty
With the empty bag between my teeth I climb up the plinth
I sit on top of the plinth and start chewing and biting the bag,
Cutting out the word NIKH with my teeth
And hold it as a sign
As high as I can
Above my head
For 10 minutes

Website: Ruth Biene