“I sleep. I try to sleep. I try to move from a lacanian state of interpassivity to a state of genuine passivity. I am the moon. I am the hanging man. I wait for judgment. I just entered a dark room with the window open. Outside it rains. Its pitch black. The rain is sucking every sound from the room. The dark is sucking out the room from the room. I sleep beside things and people. Try to dream of them.
I idolize corrado costa that once said : “i do nothing but i do it slowly”. I slept beside chillida sculptures in a scultpure park. I thought about the minigolf nearby. I thought about the smurfs. Smurfs as emblems of political minorities. I listen to smurfs and visitors of the sculpture park. I listen to people i never met just in order to be missing them. I pose in a pose of longing. I wear a dress of nostalgia.
I desire. I try to sing. Not much comes out. I repeat phrases. Over and over. Until i can fall asleep. I try to fall asleep on stage. I stage. I stand between my mouth and my voice. I say. I sleep.”