Sunday, October 9, 2011

White Days (the after draft) - for Curtis Taylor

"A gun is fired in tonight's performance"  
I take this pool cue from the program

Each propped up and
alone on the slippery slope

10 minutes?  Yes, an intermission
but the entire play releases us

It's all transitional space
rich layers of intransigent scrim

The object is to initiate prehensions
subject to recognitions that track us

We browse and swallow cookies
that haunt and track what we repeat

But before memory, Days activate affects
which cognition can never control

"Non-conscious experience is not an oxymoron...
more things are felt than are known"

The mediated landscape of tank tops and youtubes
Tutorials for the tattoos that linger over overlapping screens

Characteristics of the postman
The entrepreneur who delivers the dream

Laughing his way to the bank
To the embankment, the precipice where he falls & falls again

It is a script that whispers into your ear
no escaping
the description of the con

Seduced by transgression
Two dwarfs go into a bar where they pick up a prostitute

Who takes them to separate hotel rooms
The sugar rush ends at a gum-ball machine

No accounting for the sales pitch
For accumulation by dispossession

The theater becomes a tavern, a place for disclosure
A machine corrupted and easily broken

Where shadows and lights of the days
Foreground this omnipresent dark

Where rage haunts the unconnectable
those unknown even to themselves

They can only dance in vectors
that look forward and back

Pursuing trophies of the future or the past
Sharpened images of how to get there, or how to get back

Or else one becomes that trophy, dust in the eyes
Vodka in the veins

The darkness beyond days is what directs her
To the present moment -- to become what allures

The eye, lubricated for the endless
unrolling -- this is what draws and quarters