public restrooms are where all life and art happen. street art, trash art, the poignant art of hard lives worn on deeply grooved faces--these mean nothing to me. these are not the point of anything.
oh microbial cocktail, you are a meeting of outside and inside, private and public, and I love your acoustics all the more for it.
something always happens in the water closet.
Example: you are always surrounded by mirrors and their arrangement can turn humans and their many symbiots into a fractal arrangement of macro/microcosms.
Example: doors are in a perpetual state of opening and closing;
example: switches are gatekeepers and somewhere inside the wall is the great sphinx they call intersection.
the food always comes.
Example: the quick reveal and renegotiation of the elaborate soft machinery under dresses.
when there is simply too much outside to fit inside, there are lines of dialogue and strands of hair and children on leash lines, lip lines and eye lines demarcating the inside from the outside.
humans, estuarial.
stranger density.
layering and unlayering performances, strands and substances, skin cells and modes of intentionality.
a stable outside holding a center in transition
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