1.0 nudist dramatis

My body is hairless. Smooth, rounded surfaces, stomach (like lunar bloat) protruding skin warm (there can be fine sand on my body when sprawled) but here, I’m upright, shoulders back, spine curvature calves, elbows, pubis — angled perfect, soft to touch This is my performance,in the central business district Building facade filthy with black grime and unclean capitalism 6pm. Everyone else is going home while I am home among currencies and crisis management units / strategic business empires unawares of my hauntology I move between dinner tables full of hunger. Afterwork professionals/ middle management / executives / junior ad men … Continue reading 1.0 nudist dramatis

1.1 amniotic women

The camera man is showing me a monochrome scene on his cctv monitor, in an unidentified room: (It is night, false hollow light —the whites burn with over saturation—a full moon ) There’s only half a basketball court, crowded with followers in dark clothes, all in profile— the blacks are deep and solid— An unknown cult? Neighbourhood watch? Citizens together for celebrations? They are praising, perhaps cheering before an unseen stage (just out of frame) No other voices can be heard — no discernible words —just a jumble of human noise from male and female, no children. There is certainty … Continue reading 1.1 amniotic women

1.2 myth of the cameraman

He is daring. Out in public, in sunlight like this. Along common areas in a common neighbourhood, he, with his dark and tall priestly stance, his finely shaped beard, his snake charm eyes. We cross path outside a grocery store. He is talking to three girls. Too young to be mothers, too old to be students. They are already exchanging contact details with him. Plain white name card. Poet. Filmmaker. Producer. I have no reason to warn them. (Does that make me complicit?) The false name. Cell number off a burner phone. A website siphoning private data. I look into … Continue reading 1.2 myth of the cameraman

1.3 the hospital

I don’t know how many girls made it out. The nurse at the counter tells me to fill in the ‘crash report.’ Everything is white, bleeding into each other —the nurses station, uniforms, swinging doors, walls and ceiling and memory, even the car ramming into large cubical objects, the remains of engine parts,oil and glass— everything is a singular white blur, like a sun of halogen instead of fire. Had the doctors checked me? My head? No. I doubt I was involved in anything. (I doubt I am complicit.) I couldn’t even say if the girls were in the car. … Continue reading 1.3 the hospital

1.4 from the fringe of Carni Mortis 

I remember chains on my feet, crouching in the dark of a cell hewn from rock, under the earth, far from the sun. My hair and beard is a wild thing, untamed as I pray in my own filth. A heap of hay is set on fire, so I know my captors want my strength again, to hammer steel into blades,shields, knives, arrowheads and other instruments of death. I have become a slave to them, serving the ungodly king who lives above in gold and royal sunlight. I am a prisoner but have no pain in my heart, no true … Continue reading 1.4 from the fringe of Carni Mortis 

1.5 the incident

It’s minutes to show time (in a world untouched by the sun.) We are underground – air conditioned, top level liqueur in crystalline bottles line glass shelves pierced into mirrors- We see our faces, painted, powdered, hand drawn with black pencils (we swirl nameless beverages in the chalice) A spoken word troupe will take the dark stage first- Reading, acting, gesturing to tuxedos and perfumed necks of families from old money. -I am to go up next but: -I forget the words, once written by my hand -I forget the entire story, -beginning, middle, end, completely erased. I tell the … Continue reading 1.5 the incident

1.6 we are close to understanding the boy

Let the boy in white scream in the convention hall Let the high lights of halogen illuminate his hemp shirt and baggy trousers, to mimic contact with something foreign in the sky Let the wire in his ear, the mic near his lips, be checked for loose connections Electromagnetic waves from his cells might disrupt communication links Let him create a significant wall of sound from his body All the technicians, accounts execs, stage managers— with radio headsets, blue tooth, cardio monitoring machines wires, antennae — are moving around him, trying to manage the meltdown. Keep him calm, ground his strange … Continue reading 1.6 we are close to understanding the boy

1.7 we both dream

It’s getting complicated. Is my colleague at the motel in the neighbouring country? I am travelling along the highway, greenery, new roads into old filth of the city, 8 hours from homeland. I sit in the yellow opiated room. On the bed where we once slept or are about to. We are talking. “We are both asleep…” I am also talking to him, back at our shop of employment, 8 hours after the city. “…we both dream of her but she chooses me.” I think we are awake. Or we could be inside the dream where he is asleep and … Continue reading 1.7 we both dream

1.8 return to stranger mall

They put me in the mall again. Full of fleeting figures, sparse movements on unaccountable levels. The woman, the silent partner, the manifestation of hidden desires, lurks at the back of my awareness, on a swift and quiet train, gliding into future city. They place me, wandering in the hive mind of stores. The video man, who was absent in prior days, return (though I do not actively see him) He gives me the recording device. I am given no clear instructions, so I film sporadically on the camera phone. There is no living line, no signal to voice, no … Continue reading 1.8 return to stranger mall

1.9 prologue house 

I never see the matron.  She is following me through the confusing mansion. Wires to electric lights are cut by a masked hand, hunting blade. Been in the dark for hours.  She’s like a breath, hot and sudden on the nape of my neck, always close.  I pass rooms hidden from curious eyes. Inside, I believe there are urgent prayers being said, tenants on their knees by the edge of unmade sick beds, sweating profusely. Afraid. (Are the doors locked to keep them in, or invaders out?)  A bloodline runs dense through the mansion (I have read ledger books, historical … Continue reading 1.9 prologue house