The Universal Separatist

Seps

Posted in fantasy, performance art, same-sex marriage, science fiction, separatism, video by alexandrosegade on January 23, 2010

Replicant VS Separatist Rehearsal 2

Posted in fantasy, performance art, separatism by alexandrosegade on January 12, 2010

Last night we rehearsed for the first time with Paul Heyer, a painter from New York, in the role of Taliban.  He’s a natural.

8. SCENE: FLASHBACK – INTERROGATION ROOM

HOLOSCREEN
The death of an Australian boy-bander: Bammer Ramsey, 33, he was in his home, he was on the couch. His body was found, on the couch, by a houseguest who is described in the press as an “immigrant night clubber” named Taliban.

REP-2
Tell us what you saw.

TALIBAN
I was in the bathroom with the tall guy and we left the short redhead was on the couch with his pants down but his underwear was still on last I saw.   They had picked me up at a club by the beach and I could tell from their watches that they had money and they were babes, for the most part. The tall guy sucked on my dick for a while, to get it hard, and then he sent me, naked and only 25-years old, into the living room to see if the other guy wanted to join us, or if he was asleep, which he at first appeared to be, on the couch, staring at the sunrise. I touched his face with my penis. His cheek was cold.

REP-1
Stop lying.  You killed him.

REP-2
You put a chemical agent on the tip of your dick.  Admit it and we’ll cut a deal.

TALIBAN
That’s crazy. I tried to revive him but I couldn’t.

REP-1
Marks on the deceased’s chest back you up.

TALIBAN
The tall dude was all over me and he didn’t die.  You should talk to him.

REP-2
Your alibi is missing.

TALIBAN
I went into the bathroom but the big guy was gone.

REP-1
Like he teleported or evaporated?

REP-2
You’re in a lot of trouble here, kid.

TALIBAN
Since when do you care about enemies of the state?

REP-1
So you knew who they were?

TALIBAN
I have good taste in music.

REP-1
Were you a member of the boy band too?

TALIBAN
I’m being framed.

REP-1
OK, Taliban.  Enough games.

REP-2
I suppose you have a theory.

TALIBAN
He was at his beach view home, with the man he loved and someone cute they picked up. He was buzzing from a night of champagne and coke. He was tired; he had used all his energy on the dance floor. He sat there, anticipating the three-way that had been orchestrated by his naughty husband.  He put his fingers between the elastic of his underwear and his stomach. He felt like he was drowning in tears of gratitude. Then he felt nothing.

REP-1
Nice story.  Now tell us the truth.

TALIBAN
I want my lawyer.

REP-2
He lawyered up.

REP-1
Let him sit on ice for a while.

JAIL DOORS CLOSE ON TALIBAN.

REP-2
Coroner’s report in.

HOLOSCREEN 1
Cause of death: pulmonary oedema, i.e. natural causes. Hypothesis: he died of contentedness.

REP-2
Can you die from that?

REP-1
It’s a new weapon developed by the Governor’s secret police.

REP-2
Oh. Case closed.

BEEP BEEP BEEP.

Sehnsucht, A Critical Feeling?

Posted in art history, fantasy, Fassbinder actors, Inspirational Critique by alexandrosegade on December 30, 2009

When is it critique and when is it complaint?  What about lamentation?  When is it mourning? When it’s someone close to you who dies, you mourn, they say, but when it’s an “object” you never “had,” that grief stricken pose is melancholia.  The german word, “sehnsucht,’” describes a melancholy yearning expressed in the voice of Ingrid Caven, who herself is a Frankenstein monster of twentieth century artifice; a muse for Fassbinder & Yves Saint Laurent & Jean-Jacques Schuhl, her boyfriend who wrote the “novel” about her that I just read. Ingrid Caven’s voice expresses this feeling that is pleasant and painful all at once, that is sad and beautiful, that is a gesture of the hand that reaches out for something in the distance; it is the beam of the spotlight, filtered with blue/red, that touches the hand; and no one wants anything more, or?

Do I have the capability to offer a true critique?  Or is it that I yearn for possibility only because I know it is impossible; a way to feel desire without the fear that it will be satiated and prove altogether unsatisfying.  I don’t want what I don’t have, because then I will never want anything again; or rather, I will want something else. So sad, isn’t it?  And so, I don’t know if I can critique anything. I cannot analyze the situation in order to find a theory to understand it beyond the expression of the condition of wanting to someday understand.

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