Inhuman

The inhuman isn’t against us so much as it is alien to us; it recedes interminably even as it surrounds us completely. It is not hidden in the darkness of the outer cosmos or in the deep-sea shelf but in plain sight, everywhere, in everything. We are wanderers in an exotic world of utterly incomprehensible objects, that nevertheless we might try to comprehend. (143)
Ian Bogost. Inhuman.
In Inhuman Nature. Jeffrey Jerome Cohen, editor.

Inhuman. Not anti-human. That which is not human, and that of which we, as humans, are comprised.

We have been committing to how performance can provide us pathways to the inhuman.

What is our courage in the face of the inhuman? The courage to jump of the cliff, the courage to face the monster under the bed, the courage to sit still and let the panic come upon us and take over.

Do we have this courage?

Why such a long performance, you ask? So that we face our fear, so that we sit in the pain, the desire, the agitation: so that we have to learn to release the energy to earth and sky.

Why so long? So that we must feel.

When it comes to the inhuman, we tend to focus on the state of being sub or superhuman rather than on the within, shifting friction point between them – the meeting the real and the sensual.
Ian Bogost. Inhuman.

Objects in space, light from above and beyond, conversation with performer and sound, floor beneath, forest beyond.

HER —He’s like a stone, a scaly stone. While I, lush, my trumpet turned upwards to the sun: there is beautiful rot in me.
HIM —The sun heats me but I don’t let on that I can move. She is a mystery to me. Animal? Mineral?
HER —A liquid rot I hold in my cup. A sweet liquid full of acid to digest whatever comes my way.
HIM —Soon this heat will make me hungry. I’ll have to look, have to dart at something to eat it.
HER —Whatever unsuspecting things climb the edge of me, down the one-way hairs facing into my trumpet. Orchid, flesh eating.
HIM — I .. I ... it’s it’s.
HER — By the time they meet the liquid, they can’t climb out. HIM — It’s it’s.
HER — Insects.
HIM — She’s speaking my language.
HER — Drinking them from my cup.
HIM — I have to tell her.
HER — What my love?
HIM — I .. I ...
HER — Say it, say it. I already know, my love.
HIM — I’m I’m. I’m not who you think I am.
HER — None of us are, my love. Tell me.
HIM — I’m something more, something cold in the night and warm in the day. HER — Yes. Yes!
HIM — Something ancient, something immoveable.
HER — Yes, yes!
HIM— A mystery to myself.
HER — But not to me.
HIM — And you a mystery to me as well.
HER — Ah ha! We don’t always need to know everything.
HIM — You escape me, you escape me.
HER— I can hold both of us. Reptile.
HIM—....!
HER—Yes. I already know.
HIM— ...
HER— It’s alright my love.
HIM —... It would have made things so much easier if I’d told you before. HER —It’s fine, my sweet.
HIM —I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.
HER — I’ve always known.
HIM — I’m so sorry.
HER — I’ve always known, my love. I’ve always know.