A Score for Humans

First, the space (speak it while it grounds you, all)

Talk about the abstract (higher, inherent) space. [don’t say much, find a bad place, speak from that place, stay silent from that place, for a very long time].

How can I look at them as if they are dying, how can I connect to them only in the light of their mortality? How can I not look at them as if we are dying. [don’t even look or address them with this; read it from a scrap of paper, while sinking within the bad interior space hosting you]

That is right though, the sea, a big wave, any enormity will easily make me get into our own perspective.

Let us keep it artificial. [and understand anxiety as a meeting in the real, can you]

Although we are all almost in a row [i like best to have my audience on my right and on my left], like entering the water, we make it clear that it is a technicality – in the meeting and the different possible combinations between the voice and the perspective, there is where the abstract space appears. Examples: ‘Genele Sale cercetează pe fii oamenilor’; ‘Ai așezat masă înaintea mea împotriva celor care mă necăjesc’ [try and postpone clarity still]

Keep it a lecture, so there is expectation for the deliverance of knowledge; for you to share something softly with them. Remind us that theatre and theology might not be so different in the use of addressing, counterintuitive language or of masquerade. [it might have been anxiety defined as seeing the real, do not neglect the seeing, go for a philosophy of the faces if only one can only contemplate]

Why? […]

So that we can all live with it together.

Don’t give up language, but trust the things haunted and any wistful movement inside understanding [and, procedurally speaking, any play on perspective].
I don’t believe, I know. [see also Cixous’ approach on the Scripture as the unconscious, maybe]

Back to you and I (voices) with the perspective of us all. When I woke up the air was stuck [we all felt it at Odd].

You were not there when I presented the anxiety lecture but you were human, you woke up remembering that you were human, and you liked it. You, my human, you wrote to me during the lecture, about its splendor and beneficence. My human doesn’t ask out loud but wonders why I take so many pictures of her – her surface is eye candy, it is, and I know that I [just accept that Coetzee is the answer and that you still have a long way but that this is the future, yes, simply turning the second person into the third, somehow]

Then, love

Era o liniște în holul acela din fața camerei lui, de început de lume și de început de zi și mă obliga să-mi amintesc lucruri de copil. Nu existau hol și camere, doar o cameră mare și înțelegeam încontinuu viața fără să-mi dau seama [example of an inherent really bad space; go for a Jodorowsky panic character]

În loc să mă mângâie, mă ciupește (m-a programat la fel) și pentru că sunt slabă vrea să-mi dea din cărnița ei [example of a nice space of interiority from where to say cruel literal counterintuive true stuff like Children are a disease, not like etc.]

Explanation kills art but this is only space. Interriority pulled outside energically and exteriority invested performatively dubiously totally waiting for a more quiet talk between the new spaces that appear.

The truth is that love is not different from space. Whenever you can tell to my soul (how can you) ‘to fly away into the mountains’, whenever the comforts of You and I are demanding, we could go back to the third person and do like them (ideology behind the religious, ideology behind Humans) – ‘behaving like resident aliens, whose citizenship is really elsewhere, obey the prescribed laws, but in their private lives, they show love to all’.

And then try to go back once again to the problematic addressing, but instead of proposing a third person voice with a mobile perspective, mine, yours, a strangely shared new entity bread by the elegant indirect style libre etc., you, my human, try to speak your first person voice while also considering all their perspective with it, or ours. [and simply say: ‘i have panic attacks’]
[all this time doze your own performative investment following the rules of the soul; change gazes from surfacing to abandonment towards what you receive, from participating in them one by one to withdrawal in the neutral or resting and recharging in representational recognizable modes; wait for love to come; it generally does not; it might, immediately after your lecture is finished]

The true act of love is, clearly, company in the hard anxious space, you say.
And the human’s sensing of the so simply having (her) own space from where to.

[literally go to each participant and show love, take time, follow them outside if necessary]

(text published in the ODD publication ‘Privately’, December, 2017, in connection to my ongoing performative practice)