Journal

Pregnant Jun 16, 2012

by Eric Pitsenbarger

I know that look. The intense focus fueled by a nuclear rod burning white hot. Laser-like precision resting behind a glacial facade. Quiet calm concealing fire and once unleashed the withering heat sanitizes any surface and will pass through titanium like butter. 

 

It's almost a sport watching Erin Pike, as she levels her piercing eyes to a stage-set impossibly scribbled over. There is no question as she matter-of-factly undertakes the daunting task: vaporizing the offending marks with a gaze and a swipe. Prompted / Goaded by the smooth-voiced torture of HAL (2001 A Space Odyssey), every impossibly messy mark on every messy surface will disappear before the alloted time...and if not?! OMG It's unthinkable! The most ridiculous, impossible nightmare! And yet...as she manages to wipe away the stain above, below and upon every angle under mounting pressure my panic persists until I'm given a breathless, climactic heave of horror! Chaos reigns and no matter how diligently we scrub, there will always be a spot. Life is messy.

 

You know it, have dreamt it...feel it maneuvering your actions and cascading past barriers to inform the body of what comes next: the ritual of procreation. So here we are gathered together witnessing the timeless dance between species, not necessarily our own in it's primitive and seriocomic intent!  Either as participants (or National Geographic documentarians from an alternative universe), we observe Maureen and Ezra perform the instinctual act now embellished with fur-ball lingam and dramatic observance to sacred order: including lip smacking face kissing, red hot ass smacking, the watering of seed and grabbing of ram's wool loincloths. The firelight flickering emotion across Maureen's face: Proud, coaxing, mad with lust. In turns annoyed and incredulous, scared maybe...yet determined. Ezra's animal nature rearing into Dr. Seuss action. I wouldn't be surprised if in a few moons I come up pregnant. 

 

It's a sad day for the Dodo Bird, who is preoccupied with death. Three Muse of the Portland Ensemble Theater channel the manifest reality of an isolated and yet particular bird, hypothesizing as to the fascination and preoccupation with a certain ending. Is it a "Death-wish, or a Life-wish?" we're asked. The outcome is an unalterable fact: We're doomed.

 

Death becomes her. Zoe is an elegant corpse maneuvering past the body and into the either of another reality. Dancing with death, with her doppelganger Raja it's like watching a shadow take form. The experience of living within the mysterious 'other' and understanding the conflict that much more. So elegant and shameless. A slap to the system. 

 

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