Saturday, April 2, 2011
Through wild, slashing motions, dancers dressed in strait jackets demonstrate suffering, madness, futility. They search desperately for escape or relief, but finding none, they eventually collapse in various positions around the stage. Finally, as they remain strewn over the stage, the King and Queen enter very lovingly. They kiss and caress and enjoy themselves deeply. After a few moments together, she kisses him and leaves him. The King lies down on a bench and falls asleep.
"Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his crown, kisses it, and pours poison in the King's ears, and exit. The Queen returns; finds the King dead, and makes passionate action. The Poisoner, with some two or three Mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The Poisoner woos the Queen with gifts: she seems loath and unwilling awhile, but in the end accepts his love."
Friday, April 1, 2011
Her once beautiful nude body now stretched out on an autopsy table. Her eviscerated flesh sewn back together. A sadly poetic aura surrounds her tragic death. As women we are especially vulnerable to self destructive behavior which has its roots in the sense of shame. Because we are sometimes ashamed of the simple fact of being women! We can feel shame about our bodies"I'm not pretty enough, or thin enough." "My body is dirty because of my sexuality." Shame of competence"I'm stupid." "If I try I'll mess it up." "Some things I'll never be good at; I'm just a female. Shame in relationships "How can I expect anybody to like me, I'm such a witch!" "People think I'm foolish when I try to say anything." "Who could love me, I'm so awful?"
A fascination for torn things and ripped things. Things that are falling off and not quite covering what they are supposed to cover. Lipstick or eye shadow not correctly applied or lipstick smeared or mascara running. Everything that suggests sadness, madness or any form of self-hatred attracts me endlessly. Watching catastrophes unfold is my primary hobby. Watching people who want to caress themselves with roses and writhe among the thorns.
Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter?'
Ay, tell me that.
Marry, now I can tell.
Mass, I cannot tell.
Cudgel thy brains no more about it. When you are asked this question next, say a grave-maker: the houses that he makes last till doomsday.