Compagnia
dell Imbuto Confuso

Sketches, rehearsals, stage directions

  • they are nothing but their laughter
    their stepping and trampling
    with contorted faces
    their staggering and weaving
    their naughtiness
    their being in love with everything
    that from the inside out
    intermixes excessively

    he says / their masks reveal the
    nothingness of meaning
    that everything arbitrarily follows
    the equally valid / a kiss /
    a rubbing of the outer
    limbs / inserted into one another

    the laughter they let out as if
    mockery and scorn
    were being poured over me
    the uncle says that this is
    their natural form of appearance

    they are nothing but their laughter
    their stepping and trampling
    with contorted faces
    their staggering and weaving
    their naughtiness
    their being in love with everything
    that from the inside out
    intermixes excessively

    I say to myself
    that the uncle must know
    for so many reasons
    the uncle studied theology and
    tells me
    that I should think in terms of
    the fundamental
    of movement / yawning / the
    fluttering of the tongue
    the fingers, even the innermost
    limbs

    sure / it seems to you / as if
    they are laughing at you /
    but
    but what you / you
    have told, whether you are sleeping
    or eating or stacked the stones
    on top of each other
    is completely meaningless to them
    the agents of becoming
    are not interested in anything / except
    in that moment / in which
    movement
    became flesh, grasping itself in
    the mask of man

    he says / their masks reveal the
    nothingness of meaning
    that everything arbitrarily follows
    the equally valid / a kiss /
    a rubbing of the outer
    limbs / inserted into one another

    they are nothing but their laughter
    their stepping and trampling
    with contorted faces
    their staggering and weaving
    their naughtiness
    their being in love with everything
    that from the inside out
    intermixes excessively

  • It is quite absurd to find
    the whole gallery
    of ancestors in the aesthetic
    subconsciousness
    of all humanity, as it is stored
    in the multidimensional


    latent space. At least
    humanity so far. I am talking
    about the ancestors
    about whom my father was
    silent, the whole
    paternal clan in which he, the
    bastard, had


    nothing to say. All the more
    he spoke to me, every
    day late in the evening, from
    my sixteenth month
    on earth until I was two years
    old. 8 months, an
    eternity for such a small child.


    The aunts laughed
    their heads off. Literally. After
    1948 there were none
    left. And the king went into exile.
    The dwarf king, 1.48 meters
    tall. That they had to change
    the statues,


    otherwise he, my father's father,
    would not have been
    allowed to join the military. King
    or not. The aunts
    laughed their heads off. He
    had to climb on a
    chair to poke his dwarf king's


    tentacle into my
    grandmother's belly. This is how
    slave children are
    conceived. Poor little Anselino.
    That's what he told me,
    the story of the lost child. And the
    fact that he told it


    to me was for me both the most
    horrible and
    the most beautiful story.

  • There are three main levels
    on which agents
    can be perceived. The term
    levels is used in
    reference to the neurophysical
    realities of our physical
    being and imaginative perception.

    First, the interaction
    of bodies as fluted by agents
    eliminates what we
    used to call individual identity.
    Identifications in terms
    of right or wrong, good or bad, are
    no longer possible.

    Second, by eliminating all normally
    valid values, the fluting
    of the agents is embodied in the
    figures of comedy.
    Incidentally, sexuality is the reference
    point of all comedy, since it
    is the drive that transforms our
    habits into ridiculous gestures and
    behaviors.

    The third level is that of narration.
    What happens through the
    involuntary interaction from one body
    to another, fluted by the agents of
    anarchy, must be described
    as an act
    of subjectivation.
    Subjectivation will only happen if one
    surrenders to the infinitives as
    they are almost materialized in the
    agents: to becoming and all the verbs,
    adjectives and nouns derived
    from it.

  • Three layers unfold, where agents weave,
    In bodies of flesh, senses shift and blur.

    The first: we are fluted, no longer distinct.
    The concept of the individual fades,
    No fixed self, no lines between right and wrong.
    Identities dissolve like smoke,
    What was solid is now fluid, always in motion.

    In the current of time, we bend and break,
    Agents of anarchy, undoing every boundary.
    No rules hold us, no chains confine.
    We rise and fall, open to the vast unknown.

    Second, comedy emerges in the space left behind.
    Sex, the catalyst, unravels our expectations,
    Habits and gestures transformed into absurdity.
    Laughter erupts where meaning once stood firm,
    Now everything is unstable, constantly shifting,
    As the agents make playthings of our convictions.

    In the current of time, we bend and break,
    Agents of anarchy, undoing every boundary.
    No rules hold us, no chains confine.
    We rise and fall, open to the vast unknown.

    The third: narration begins, a story unfolds,
    Through the collision of bodies fluted by agents.
    Surrender to becoming, to verbs and acts untamed,
    A new subject emerges from the chaos,
    Unnameable, unbound, in a constant state of flux,
    Where being is nothing but change itself.

    In the current of time, we bend and break,
    Agents of anarchy, undoing every boundary.
    No rules hold us, no chains confine.
    We rise and fall, open to the vast unknown.