Why do you look so sad?
Because you speak to me in words, and I look at you with feelings.^[1]

On a set defined by shallow relations, the actors are preparing for their representation. An electric fence separates these subjects, choreographing feelings, snagging bodies on its jagged edge. The passage is thin but resistant – a tight circulation of expectations, binding us in spite of ourselves, in spite of our natures.

Tearing through the fabric of experience, the roles of this play are simultaneously embedded and distorted as they trace across the skin, penetrating our nostrils, rake under our nails.

Today I believe in the possibility of love; that is why I endeavor to trace its imperfections, its perversions.^[2]

Tears flow from the surfaces of individual and collective bodies. The historical melodrama continues, the stage is set: a meal of chocolate figs and white bread. Our senses, real and imagined, are mingled by delight and fear.

The flesh is hugged by the gravitation of bodies, orbs of light suspending us above despair. A precarious balance, a fabric without joints.

Floating on a balance of orbs, desire projected through the mists of time.

Man is motion toward the world and toward his like. A movement of aggression, which leads to enslavement or to conquest; a movement of love, a gift of self, the ultimate stage of what by common accord is called ethical orientation.^[3]

^[1] Jean-Luc Godard, Pierrot le Fou

^[2] Frantz Fanon, The Woman of Colour and the White Man

^[3] Ibid.