outside light (Page 267)

outside light

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THE SHOW CAN’T GO ON WITHOUT AN ANGEL

Offers of financial assistance are urgently sought to mount study for a passion. If you can help, please contact me here. Alternatively, donations may be made via paypal or paymex. Use the button-images on the appropriate pages at the top of the list opposite. study for a passion a theatre

the soul of brevity is a want of wit; if you can dance it, why talk about it?

two-pronged corn forks with red handles. Why not? The Royal New Zealand ballet in their new stiff tutus. If you haven’t seen ballet for a while, it can seem an absurd artform, a ridiculous discipline. The ballerinas bisected by these tulle discs, the bottoms moving without the tops, and

the big little taylor as a very annoying theatre worker with a tail: don’t get beastist on me but tappin’ as I am here on this sack with my fist is highly questionable despite the knowingness of the big smirk on my little mug; perhaps I’m a council worker

AUCKLAND is premy – or une queue lost in the telling – number 1

http://www.thebiglittlecity.co.nz go on. have a look. I dare you, the big little other. the big little majority and the big little minority. they’re all behind the big little lie. Of course it makes one think of Big Chief Little Feather. It makes one think of

fx untwinned in their affects

Fx should be a by-product of what you do not your reason for doing it, fx like realism, surrealism, pomo-ism, all the -isms. Consider Steve Reich’s Violin Phase. Reich extracts the effect, phasing, isolates it, inside a minimal repetitive structure, and anatomatises it, by making the music programmatic – or

Deleuze’s “notoriously complex conception of time” [Peter Hallward, Out of This World, p. 146]

Still the absence of time divides itself perpetually into the one same moment (repeat) – – Anne Carson, “H & A SCREENPLAY” in DECREATION, Random, N.Y., 2005, p.131

& feel. sentir

And then everything had gone comical again: whatever he was made of changing its course and lifting him, stinging. One afternoon, there’d been this rushing inside his arms and his heart doubling, racketing about – there was no way to misunderstand the terrible life that roared back in. – A.L.