lunchmeat axis shift:
telepathic encounters
lunchmeat axis shift:
telepathic encounters
lunchmeat axis shift:
telepathic encounters
A remarkable carnival oozing with expressiveness and light-heartedness somewhere in the woods. Bubbly masks, a fiery spinning carousel, kids flipping around, collectively cooked yums in a pot filling dozens of hungry stomachs, fast bpm electroacousticobambam madness behind bushes blending with sounds from all the unexpected corners. And in the center of this oddest harmony stands a tall tree house built by families and friends over many years ~ now providing a shelter for the whole community's funfuns.
All sorts of presences passing ~ an umbrella lightbulb lady, an elfie, a few fellows in policemen costumes stirring up confusion, a walking cardboard box holding a reusable plastic cup filled with beer.
Morning bird's chirping.
A man covered by a long black costume from head to toe ~ revealing only a pair of round eyes.
He runs towards us.
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"Heey, is that you? :]" ~ eyes smiling
"Heey yes, we can't see your face [:" ~ eyes eyes smiling back
"I am Jakub from Lunchmeat" ~ takes off the mask
"Nice to meet each other"
:) (: :) ~ 3 pairs of weirdo eyes smiling
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we talked a bit about mutual community values
shared a sincere hug
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who could've imagined the places and spaces in which we would meet again
~~~
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~ some months later
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[Mor Wen]
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Ankali. Fifteen minutes before the opening. I am sitting in a cloackroom on a tower of plastic storage boxes filled with empty bottles - out of sight of the incoming visitors, waiting. The distinct off-beat footsteps, the heavy metal doors opening and closing with a rusty finish ~ seemingly every three seconds. The sounds keep repeating, the roles had been switched - spectators are unknowingly sound performing.
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A few wibbily~wobbily~wobbs ago we were decorating the club toilets with sparkly beaded fabrics. A few soundcheck chatters ago a painting of a happy pear fell off the club toilet fan so I tied it to a water tube. A few jumps~around ago we were cutting some fabrics into smileys and hung two cute plushy mice rotating on the ceiling. A few sixty~minutes earlier the theatre folding chairs were put in the strict rows.
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And here I am now, sitting and peeling a banana from the Žabka minimarket {avoiding eye contact while doing so}, breaking some bread with some spread and sipping cold matcha under a fluffy blanket ~ all of that in a weirdo potato sack of a costume.
Eating and focusing does not come easy fifteen minutes before throwing oneself in front of the unknown crowd. What am I doing here and why is my heart beating so so sõõõ fast? :): ~ caught myself asking again, just this time in a different place on a different occasion. Rows of chairs were warming up. The mice were still spinning.
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The crackling ssssimmer of the radio turns on.
In front of the still seated crowd, shielded by the masks of the apocalyptic present ~ the new norm, the character appeared with the mask of the past self ~ learning how to walk straight once again with the weight of past wounds. The banana cloackroom seems to be thousands neon-light-years away now ~ nowhere to hide. The character began to tell the story via physical theatre movement to a shattered mosaic of music, sound and spoken words. Both intergenerational and intercultural dialogues were resonating through quite unusual material - concrete club walls.
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The human vulnerability ~ both of the performer and the spectator
>> the look-ins and the look-aways <<
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hey you/me
it is comfier under the turtle shell
where is tha opening dj set
not ready for the family talk right now,
will I ever be? it does not matter.
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i guess.
let's both relate or separate?
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Brother, Sister.
Son, Mother.
Father, Daughter.
When I was your age.
I'll try, Father...
Look at your Cousin.
I'll try Mother...
​Brother, Sister.
Son, Mother.
Father, Daughter.
When I was your age.
I'll try, Father...
Look at your Cousin.
I'll try Mother...
Brother, Sister.
Son, Mother.
Father, Daughter.
When I was your age.
I'll try, Father...
Look at your Cousin.
I'll try Mother...
Don't forget your hat don't forget your hat don't forget your hat your hat don't forget your hat forget your hat hat hat hathat hat hat hathathathatatat
The audience closes its tense eyelids in the ambience.
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"You are by the sea now," echoes softly.
The wire ball lit up with flaming sun-like red, the fog paves its spiralling ways between the chairs across the former soap factory's stage. Ankali's motto "happy and sad" seemed to fit Xynnh's live set character as a silky glove with featherly stitched holes. With eyes fully concentated and hands rested between tangled cables, Xynnh translated his newly discovered path from supression to self-acceptance through his small-bedroom-studio-made language.
Never raised to pursue any forms of artistic "distractions" yet there he managed to play comfortably without second guessing as if he was at home.
"I don't wan't you to chase success in places you don't feel comfortable. Don't make the mistake I was making for too long. Do what makes you happy and we will be happy for you." ~ those were the parents realisations this year, words never heard before so loudly and clearly.
It was one of the toughest years which took away so much but also brought a light to what is really important in life. It takes a tremendous amount to be there for oneself. The feeling of comradery in the traumatic periods of many lives seemed to be something commonly felt that night. The end of the set brought a wave of gratitude for having the opportunity to share what makes us all {tragically} human within a smaller intimate crowd of curious ears and supportive friends in it.
Lunchmeat crew curated this night and we were more than lucky to share the misty tables with Melika (Nkisi) and New York rapper and ballet dancer Yung Liberaci who swooshed the dystopian [heart]core rave in the fullest swing through various hardware manoevers and spoken free flow improvisation. Melika finished the night off with an exhilarating and accelerating experimental DJ set. Masked people swaying between contrasting unmovable separated rows of the seats, some standing still by the wall in a distance, some dreamingly touching the funky decorations placed within the space, making the definition of dystopian club night come to the lived present ~ as if this was really the last time on Earth.
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The sound goes off earlier than expected. "We still have some time left until the curfew," appears Jakub.
Last cheerful sways and the night ended right before the limit in a highly laid-back and smiley mode. :):
Lights on. Laughters of relief. The shared claps were later replaced by the claps of folding and moving chairs. A splash of cold water on a face, our shaking heads in an attempt to process the night. After holding our last breaths and sharing warm goodbyes, the fabrics and toys were stacked in the supermarket reusable bags and were ready to be carried back to the home quarantine where our cat fellow awaited us. :3
