Dragonfly, Cindi, and Performance Art
If I want to ruin the day, I’ll squander the morning stuffing donuts and donuts and donuts down my gullet; then I’ll wash all those donuts and donuts and donuts down with coffee and coffee and coffee. It being Dragonfly’s birthday, makes sense to ruin it, if only for myself. Just don’t tell Cindi. Poor Cindi. She digs me way more than I deserve. Every time we part she says, “I really like you.” More recently, she’s taken to doubling her “really”s. The first time I saw her I wanted to kiss her. And so we kissed (albeit not the first time I saw her), and then, shortly thereafter, we did everything else. But I’m still ruined over Dragonfly. (Whom I never worked up the courage to kiss.) Let that be a lesson to you: Don’t let feelings fester. Express them as soon as they spring up. The trick is not to freak out the other party. Be casual with your words. Keep it simple. Exempli gratia, say, “Hey, you’re cute.” Or comment on what their wearing, like their shoes. Or smile and maybe use psychology: “Hey, I just wanted to say that you’re… you know… really ugly.” That might backfire, though. On the other hand, if the other party wigs out on you for being a tease, that tells you something. (Viz: “baggage.”) Whatever you do: If the other party isn’t game—like straight out of the gate—move on. Seriously, dude. It’s like Velcro. Your hooks have gotta match her loops. (Or his loops.) But if you’re both loops, or you’re both hooks, or loops and hooks of difference degrees, then you’ll have to explain to me (or, better yet, to yourself) what’s gonna hold the two of you together. Methinks Dragonfly’s loops were a bit smaller than my hooks. We stuck, but not well. So it goes with me and Cindi. Her loops are bigger, I guess.
But let’s not pity Cindi too much. When she was a young’un, she told her little sister that snot was dead brain matter. So her little sister stopped blowing her nose. She stifled sneezes and hencethus sniffled through many of her formative years. This behavior led to a number of vomiting incidents, as the body needs to flush its system of snot every now and then.
Speaking of snot, I watched a bit of performance art tonight. A young woman wrapped herself in Saran wrap as a metaphor for a condom. At least, I think that’s what it was. As always with performance art, the question is/was: Why? At its worst, performance art is slacker’s theatre. At its best, performance art is, perhaps, the perfect form to express little thoughts, little dreams, little ponderances, or whipped up abstractions without stretching the concept too thinly. Performance art, at its best, allows an idea to remain potent. Often, though, it leaves the onlooker utterly bewildered. Then again, life itself is bewildering. (Hencethus: religion). But must we stage bewildering acts? Methinks bewilderment and catharsis do not walk hand in hand.
18 & 19 November 2000