Dark, small, confined place. One spectator to enter the performance space. Female voice saying the text using different rhythms and degrees of volume. Words and sentences can be repeated at random. Different ways of screaming at random. Intermittent video projected images (of anything, preferably home movies) on various fluid surfaces, at least three (glass, bowls with water, collage of CD-s, etc.), their appearance caused by the theme question “what grows you”. Immediately after the last question, simultaneously, fast-forward video projections and Tori Amos’s cover on “Smells Like Teen Spirit”. The music and the projections go on loop endlessly until the spectator shows himself out.
What grows you?
Falling for the wrong one? Growing apart? Death? Dying? Getting married? Holding a job? Fucking three at a time? Getting your period? Being abused? Falling for the perfect one?
The 7 o’clock death experience?
Memory… scream
Like fire… scream
As long as… scream
Most important reason… scream
The certitude…scream
The necessity of remembering… scream
This morning, the poor, the sick and the rich are black lines drawn in green ink on my comfortable paper.
To alter the memory. Experiencing life after experiencing death is simple.
To alter the ability of remembering. Getting out of bed/ not getting out of bed. The difference lies only in the certitude of the necessity of remembering. Who he is. Who I am. What I am left to do. Always the question.
What grows you?
Good days. Bad days. Relearning to live, to wake up, to breathe, to smile, to fuck, to be happy, to act happy, to become the role you are playing. I rape time not to think at the effects of time. I fake time not to feel the dementia of time. No one does it perfectly. Yet, sometimes, oblivion comes. I project myself, I readapt myself, I choose again and again, I make promises in the name of you, I live up to them. Do together, act together, always try to think together, always, in the name of you. Always.
I don’t hate you. Hold my hand. Since you’ve been away, I fear absence no more. Growing apart feels as natural as a dull perfume. I can create now the esthetics of holler.
What grows you?
6.30. The phone rings. (…I can’t do this right now). Absence is passive. Absence is a middle night call. Middle night callers. No good news, I tell you.
Sometimes I wish to get away from you, sometimes I don’t, my needs related to my ability of facing remembrance. But the memory can not be avoided. Not even when sleeping, not even when clubbing. It persists in the air, thick as a fog, loyal as a shadow, walking next to you, endangering you with the threat of sudden visibility.
These days, the memory of you determines my existence, determines my expression, my way of choosing these words. It’s the memory that is now pumping the blood up to my veins.
What grows you?
The persistence of memory. I want to make sure I could remember everything. I want to be absolutely positive I could access all the information burned into my cells. Even if feeling myself is like diving in the midst of chaos.
What grows you?
The necessity of meaning. A meaning that I create so I could still drink my milk in the morning. Dealing with the intimacies of people, shoveling in their vulnerabilities. My role is to assist you in the act of remembering.
Remembering is transgression. Remembering is clicking yes to do you wish to format now? I hate remembering, I hate the idea of leaving something behind.
What grows you?
Falling for the perfect one. We parted casually a while ago, said our goodbyes, all the most common of things. I remember still your intensity pass by me. Feel. Touch. Pressure. Skin. Hands. Look. Smile. Protect. Can’t think of you, love! Just fictionalize your absence, your ability for Otherness.
How will it end? scream
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