Always

Always. Always already. Always been, always changing.

As Emilia Martinez says, always "resisting the current machine of the world."

We are living in a critical moment. We need theatre. We need ritual. We need expression in the theatre whose goal isn’t always to communicate a message or an identity.

Obviously, we need to move beyond the discourse and practice of theatre as commodity.

We need intimacy and connection.

We need to wait, to listen, to burn: in an effort of endurance.

Always more. These texts and performances exceeds themselves. Lifelong assemblages of creation. So much more to be created, tremendously incomplete.

Massive catchment area. Leaves of Grass. Excess, proliferation, multitude...

Maybe the figure in the oversized dog mascot suit in segment # 7 (Posthuman 1) says it best:

My friend always falls in love
like she’s a whiff of cotton candy,
like she wants to melt in her lover’s mouth.
She floats downwards on her intended
with fibrous
and crystalline intensity.
Her brain turns to dextrose and fructose and sucralose and even stevia and the man feels the shimmer of another species in his hand.
Drops of sugar water fall from places above
and everything starts to run together.