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Cronos' Muses
This minimalist, performative improvisation pays tribute to fatal femininity and the rebellious spirit of muses indulging in playful, irreverent acts. It explores the passage of time through a symbolic ode to the clock's cyclical nature. Enclosed within a self-fashioned circle, we wielded forks as though manipulating the needles of time, attempting to distort its relentless progression. Yet, the performance's conclusion underscored time's inescapable march forward. At its core, the piece reflects the golden era of womanhood.
The air is thin,
Red and white surround us in soft fabrics.
We sit gossiping like telephone wires.
Me and you.
Under a stormy sky, which you see as blue.
My skin, under white light,
reveals gashes from a brush.
You are kind to me,
yet your iris stains my freshly washed clothes.
I blame you, for only you can control your gaze.
My soul sinks as you tell me,
"When you bite into a heart, It tastes like nothing".
With shaky hands, I hold a jar.
Red and white, once again.
You hear metal dance against glass,
terrified movements from inside.
When the contradictory colours are lifted.
You say,
"We can’t eat that, it’s spoiled!"
But it doesn't matter anymore.
I pick and pick at the scab.
Once a cut that I wish revealed bone.
The only thing left of our brief encounter,
hoping it’ll scar.