Saturday, September 13, 2003
On the way to the performance, I was thinking about the word death and how it should really be two words. One for the living and one for the dying, because it is such a different thing to each. I was glad, at first that these people were rolling in the fountain and spitting flowers but after a while, I could not sit still and as I watched the lit crowd around the fountain, I thought. What a restless world. What a breathless restless world. I don’t know why I thought that exactly. It seemed like the subtlety was lost in the thin veneer of jameson park. I wanted the lights to explode, the water to fill with blood or maybe I would have been satisfied had one of them turned and pulled the moon out of the sky and put it in the other one’s mouth. I liked them being there. I wish they were there so often that people just got used to them. They moved so slowly though. Like stones might, if stones moved. And this was boring to me because I am a product of our media age. I wanted to see the dance sped up, time lapse style into three minutes with the water rushing back and forth over their agonized faces. But that’s just my anxious restlessness speaking. They made a sculpture out of themselves and people were quiet for a while and sat together outside.
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