Confessions of Felix Krull, Confidence Man

In the glitter of things, I learned to make myself. Rhineland, empty pockets, but a look like polished steel. My father left a world of shine — I learned to make it real. Not strength, not duty — I held to masks, to measure, to the art, and told the draft board: "Thanks, but no, that's not my part." I'm Felix Krull — the world's my stage, my floor. I take every role — and I give back no more. Not possession, but effect; not action, but style in light. I am what I appear to be — and nothing else is right. I'm Felix Krull. And that's enough. In the hotel, in the mirror's dance, I read faces like a book. A smile, a tilt, a word — and the order would shake and cook. They believed me easy, because I was easy — polished, smooth, precise. I took the role upon myself — and it barely left a price. "Appearance, appearance..." An artist of the surface, with courtly guile. I never broke the mask — I only improved the smile. I'm Felix Krull — the world's my stage, my floor! I take every role — and I give back no more! Not possession, but effect; not action, but style in light! I am what I appear to be — and nothing else is right! I'm Felix Krull. And that's enough. Felix Krull — a name like bright deceit. Enough masks, enough change, complete.