Performance sketch for Glasgow International 2012 – Whistleblower your table shine is mine: Seduce and destroy.
Swan-like I am hunched over black mass, caressing its uneven contours, coveting its penetrating beauty, as I whisper my fantasies of masculinity into its open, glossy aperture. My voice resonates all around me, as if in taunt to my elocution.
I shift between whisper and high pitched whistle, moving on my haunches, the amber coloured liquid moves from state to state in a collorary to my emissions, I am aware of its slippages, between form and formlessness.
You a reflected circle that moves around my orbit – emitting a low hum in combat to my shrill tune, gradually affecting the liquid as it melancholically vibrates.
I pick and fumble, trying to push my fingers further in. I can feel it longing for its place of origin within me.
The oval mirror in my hand, picking up the glint of the frosted sequins that line my mouth, like scaled flesh, a wounded centre, a sequined vessel that lines my throat. The golden antechamber between inside and out. I fill myself through this hole. Hideously hungry, aroused, gaping and monstrous, I lie there pregnant with the unconsummated threat of my own invagination. Nothing seems able to satiate this hunger.
Its sticky sweet insides line the aperture of my mouth, molding to its form.
I go about my peristaltic action, as my own reflection circles me
I give birth to your form, as it glides from inside out, into sheaths of spun gold.
