W
Light blast tunnel, road curve moon shaped bend, eyelid charcoaled. Side lit over exposed. Striped shirt. Scotch jacket. Skin like a map.
There’s a steep and sheer, deep, dangerous and profoundly beautiful abundance in this garden of delights and saturated colours all bosom blood ruby reds, swollen uva emerald greens, manic primed purples, gut string yellows, bubble gum pinks & diamond oceanic blues on either side of this monochrome, long, long littered road of broken lost and ice frozen times, expired pregnant regrets, preconceived stillbirths like all the military detritus that retreating armies of centuries forgotten leave behind on the pitted cracked stone and mud-ways as they flee in disarray - along this very road that runs directly out of his eyes and straight into mine.
And in your eyes, I see her.
Her face in-grain, out-grain - light like fragments of broken glass, shapes kaleidoscope - silver halide ash grey, she looks directly into your eyes, my eyes, his eyes - awash in anaemic light, pale grey emergence. Touching her face with the back of her hand in an attempt to banish this migraine ravaged light. All grain and dissipation, fingers on nose bridge covering eyes in shadows of cool relief as if beneath watery palm tree penumbra. Napalm strike. White flash. Strobe flicker. Eye blink. Electric vertigo, a clear laser vision out from the frenzied voltaic eyes of Pan, Dionysus or Bacchus Himself - god of shock, lightning high voltage, this deity of panic and luscious terror, flayer of human and animal skins to lay still deep red bloodied like bed sheets on the earth beneath voluptuous summer tree boughs to fornicate upon, flickering strobe lights over the goat god, the musical one, the enticer, the charmer, the spell caster, the capturer, the ecstatic, the giver and the taker, the god and goddess, as she becomes one with him and he with her, as she becomes possessed by his spirit and he enters her body in union and becomes one with her youthful mortal being - Pan the god of deep reverberations, sonic spells, and magnetic twisted charms like snake matter vine writhe - sounds - visions, desires and delights, sweet harsh extremities and liberated release from any forms of limitation, rules, regulations, or Control’s controlling constrictions and strangulations, where the mind is free for being not of itself any longer - Pan the releaser, the liberator, the fornicator and adulterer, the unifyer, the unafraid, the naked, the free, the wild and brave, the uninhibited, the drunk, the addict, the intoxicated, the seer of all shades in lights and all light casts and tones in shadows, Pan the dancer and music-maker who flickers between the nether worlds of coal pit darks and atomic whites, Pan the god of continuation and circles, cycles, movements and frenzy. The god of all earthly delights and all beautifully drunken excesses licked up lustfully, erotically, by wild felines from blood engorged and broken, dripping grapes, blood the life and wine the blood, Pan the all-being, the seer and watcher, in dance with the outer and with the inner, god of mental journeys and of ‘mental’ journeys, god of danger, the precipice, the edge and the fall, of temptation, the forbidden and the demolisher of taboos and hollow decorums. Pan the lord of abundance, overseer of the garden of all forbidden pleasures and unabashed sensuality granted - of music ecstatic and wild and trance inducing and deeply profound and light-filled elevating - all plugged into the electrical charge of the ALL - the all between the W and the S, between the mortal and immortal, the shortsighted and the seer of secrets. Pan who penetrates and possesses. Pan the horned one, and cleft hoofed, the transformer and the one who takes on many forms and incarnations - living bodies of both beast and human to inhabit and dance within all wild electric frenzied trance and grace like flashing flames and eyeballs rolling back to the cathedral roofs of their dawn-white-bone-craniums, possessed by his rhythmic din and deep drone echoing through their very own inner sanctums.
He who bears and gives life force and energy and visionary psychosis in its sheerest most colour drenched ways and enticements. Mania in its purest brightest most inspired and inspiring sense. The giver of the light. The dark. And the flickering inter-zone and hinterlands between the two. The all encompassing and encompassed. The Wilderness that surrounds the wilds. The god of the outer-zone. The out-sider in you.
Two ships adrift on oceanic luminosity. Half cut light and through the glassy eye of a horse she looks out. The hand on her face and the shadow spill subaqueous is as if the dark presence and weight of a sea behemoth has gently alighted upon her face. All smear and disintegration and translucent touch, imperceptible but revenant, a quiet fluid motion.
White flash stutter. He stares straight back into her. She is he, and he is she. He is Pan, and Pan is she. They are one.
Head moving like flame underwater. Light burn holes. Broken motion. He hides his eyes and worlds behind sunglasses wearing a replication of what he wore 40 years prior, scratching his hand, handkerchief in pocket, ducks walking across his tie. Where have you been? How many crashes? How many falls? A twisted bramble emerges from a semi-derelict garden behind him vignetted by the encroaching blackness from all corners and sides, pin hole iris diminish, swallowed up by the void yet again. Where are you now? His sleeves are rolled up. Ready for more, resigned to another round. Another dance with the phantoms of the past. Pinstripe trousers, white shoes, smoke curling cigarette, shades and mouth slightly ajar - he knows but won’t admit it, not to you anyway, and why the hell should he? Your absolutions are as ridiculous and short sighted as your judgements are ludicrous.
An airplane promises escape by jet screaming overhead, white scar trails in azures of wilting promise and fade, the noise of a kitchen extractor fan whirs away. He searched and transversed all over. Touching a branch.
She is he. And He is she.
Her face, blurred undefined, just present, lowered curtain veils embroidered in gold thread of flowers and vines, naked bodies, masks, closed locked doors at the end of dusty sunlit corridors, beds, prostrate carnality, entangled vegetation, gruesome ancient sculptures, the gorgons and Dionysus, the warm cruelty of release and insanity, lust, naked truth and the cold stale mate of neutrality and the fleeting, the suicide jump into the black ocean from a ship sailing at night when everyone onboard is sleeping and the clutching, fighting to hold on to all this profoundly beautiful unhinged orgiastic frenzy of visions tsunamic from just one rapid camera blink of His eye. Pigeons fly away in a clatter outside and leave the building roof where they had been cooing.
Trapped. Interior. Portals. Corridors. Open doors.
Pan, the horned one. Flayer of skins and giver of life. She is grace incarnate, she is pure motion as she dances through and with the deep cuts, slices, lacerations of deep black shadows and white blinding light.
An Emperor in no clothes sits on a broken barren throne - naked, revealed, exposed, sand blasted vision flay, deformation integral - the one tiniest turn of the head changes absolutely everything - hands like lobsters, yet limp upon double leg halo-halide smear, pendulum hallucinosis schitz-split-complete full frame vignetted, darkness encroaches tidal from corners and edges and swallows deep end, black out welding - pin-hole diminish - deep black void dilated - drown in the shadow, dissipate, closure, nothing, black, end.
Pupils staring back at us from the back of black, black in black I see your empty roads that stretch a billion light regrets of decades after decades and years and years of tree lined highways, dry, forlorn, cactus lacerating, blossoming explosive colour bloomed plains not gardened but tendril wild and teeming vitality and delights all sensual and saturated, forbidden fruits taken, strange flowers that speak ancient forgotten tongues and entice alien frequencies and other planetary tones and music muse siren song Sybil speak, and all the prophetesses, all the seers, the oracles, dancers and this solitary one, graceful and crystalline momentary vision balanced on a razor sharp shutter blade micro second snap of an all encompassing ecstasy and profundity and connectedness and wholeness implosive-outward all sliced in half - full length body scar - by this infinite road lined by leafless trees that bear from their bony branches of peeling bark, transluscent snake skins all empty of form, of body, of flesh, like cobwebs, chrysalis remains all opaque and tissue blue, transfixing and transparent fluttering like flags in this desert wind inconstant, trees festooned in these skins and shells of emptiness, like Christmas decorations in the wrong season, wrong place, on the wrong tree, and in the wrong time - endless clouds of butterflies blow out of your eyes - snow storm maelstrom caught sideways in sodium glare.
A sphinx. Still stone silent. Snow draped.
A bonfire burns a thousand crowns of thorns, these wreaths of entangled barbed wire all twisted and monstrous into a funeral pyre where He stands amidst the flames, inside the heart of the fire itself, is inside it and also behind it, a shadow form, a silhouette, a presence, flame generator - the god of shock, fertility, giver of abundance and plenty, the beast and the life force, the shadow and the flame. The flame.
Hands on hips, youthful naked, horned head - touched by two shapes of hovering light like eidolons or sprites, she faces us, He faces, he faces us - and begins to dance.
The ‘all’ is in the dance, is the dance.
Even when it stops it doesn’t.
Holding a polished marble wall in a corridor of reflections, arm swinging manically like deranged windmill blades churning and cutting at supernatural velocity around and around and around. These fluid arcs and surges of delirious beauty and poise.
Testo di Olivier Pin-Fat
