BORN LIKE THIS

Born like this


into this

as the PIXELATED faces smile;

as Mrs. Death laughs;

as the elevators break;

and plastic fish spit out their plastic prey:

WE ARE
BORN LIKE THIS
INTO THIS


into these frivolously designed wars,
into the process, of erasing our neighbours faces and names,
Into a place, where a smile at a child is returned with a look of terror,
into trivial disagreements that end in shootings and knifings,
into a palace where the masses elevate blond buffoons into rich heroes
and turn civilians into rubble.

“JE SUIS…“ BORN LIKE THIS

INTO THIS


into hospitals which are so expensive that it’s cheaper to die

into lawyers who charge so much it’s cheaper to plead guilty

into a country where the jails are full
and the madhouses closed


born into this


walking and living through this
Running on the treadmill of life
The never ending
Never relenting
Never forgiving
Treadmill of life


dying because of this

muted because of this

castrated
denied 

disinherited
Devoured

because of this
Alienated

fooled by this

used by this
brought alone by this

made crazy
violent

inhuman by this

(PAUSE)


the veins are clogged
the breath is slow (and laboured )
the heart is blackened
Filled with fear
with mistrust
the heart is blinded 

and the fingers reach for the throat
the keyboard

the gun

the knife

the bomb…


THE FINGERS REACH OUT TOWARDS A FLACCID GOD…
and bounce back to the bottle…

the pill…
 

the powder…

the needle…

WE ARE
BORN LIKE THIS
INTO THIS

Into the sight of broken windows of ostracism


into bars where people no longer speak
Into the sight of empty apartments that no-one can afford
BORN into this sorrowful desolation

BORN in debt
Into entire countries in debt

Paying interests upon interests upon interests
BUT soon the banks will burn

money will be useless

there will be open and unpunished murder in the streets

it will be guns and roving mobs

land will be useless

food will become a diminishing return

nuclear power will be taken over by the many
explosions will continuously shake the earth
Babylonia the mother of hookers, drunk in blood, will perish before the power of the lamb.

Rome will burn in an attempt to save civilisation from the ashes…

And soon others will follow…

- Paris will burn

- London will burn
- Munich will burn
- Buenos Aires will burn
Amsterdam will burn with a sweet smell of oblivion
- Melbourne will burn
- Oslo will burn
New York and the twin towers will burn
- Zurich will burn
- Johannesburg will burn
WASHINGTON WILL DECIDE NOT TO BURN

The rich and the chosen will gaze from the divine distance of space platforms.
On a Sunday the Messiah will be born again
And by Monday the mob will claim their right to crucify him.

Dante’s Inferno will be made to look like a children’s playground

The sun will not be seen and it will always be night

Trees will die
A dog will be run over by a truck recollecting corpses.

all vegetation will die.
Some of us will manage to sleep, but only a few will be able to dream.

the sea will be poisoned

lakes and rivers will vanish

rain will be the new gold
the rotting bodies of men will stink in the dark wind
the last few survivors will be overtaken by new and hideous diseases

and there will be

the most
beautiful
silence
ever
heard

The sun still hidden there


On the horizon…

awaiting the next chapter.

THE COMMUNION
Welcome ladies and Gentlemen. While you are here with us tonight, we would like to invite you to
forget
about the outside world.
Try not to think about anything outside this room.
Whether or not it is noticed, what we fundamentally look for in love, crime, drugs, insurrection, war
is: a poetic state.
We crave for a transcendent state of life. A passionate, convulsive and truthful conception of life.
But we live in a time where we are surrounded by more fiction than at any other time in history. Any
"fact" can be questioned, any anecdote can claim our attention as a "truth". And there is a
particular fiction surrounding us continuously. The one that seeks to divide from the truth and from
each other. And so, we are scared and separated.
But just as we live in a time of division and ostracism, we also live in a time of constant movement.
People are moving, all the time. Flying; walking; swimming if necessary; migrating; all over the
world.
The answer, as we know, has been the construction of walls. The exclusion. The isolation. We live
under a tyrannical world order, where indifference is currency and hope smuggled goods. And part
of this tyranny is the control, not only of space, but also of speech. This is why in order to
emancipate ourselves we have decided to murdered the author.
The “I“ that speaks in this performance tonight is not the voice of the author.
The creator is dead.
We have no guide. (führer)
It will be our shared responsibility to join the dots of this capricious portrait of something that
resembles the world.
Every spectator is an author if he or she decides to play along.
If he or she decides to manipulate the signs hereby presented.
This piece in its countless variations belongs to the spectator.
Without the spectator's universe, this piece would not be complete.
‘For its creation has neither cause nor consequence without it.
There will be no story.
There will be several beginnings but there will be no ending at all.
This piece resembles the snake that bites its own tail.
This piece is stuffed with contradictions.
We are obsessed with words, but words will be scattered.
Words that we rub agains each other, hand washed from their former meaning.
We are obsessed with the contradictory nature of language.
That double bladed knife that we use to cut the umbilical cord and fall ass first onto the world.
We are obsessed with words.
It is as if we had words instead of fingers,
… or fingers at the tip of our words.
Words like a skin.
We rub our language against the other and our body shivers with desire.
Here we stand.
Together.
Not only here, but now.
This is the only thing I can promise you right now.
Yes.
Here we are in this refuge, together.
Language is a arrow window of a prison cell from where we spy at the world.
Language is a huge dog barking for attention, but provoking fear.
Language is a shy first kiss, shared at the dark of night.
Language is a ticking bomb at an airport lounge.
Language is the origin of creation, the DNA of our entire civilisation.
Long after the end, there will still be language.
And in that moment I can assure you, through theatre, we will discover that what we considered
our most intimate division is in fact something we share.

MYTHOS
(MARIE writes at the blackboard the words highlighted in red.)

Let´s revisit our creational myths. Lets pretend for a moment that God created the world. Just for
the sake of establishing a point.
Imagine that Darkness was all over and the Spirit of God was hovering around somewhere in the
immensity of the universe. Lets imagine that from this darkness God said, “Let there be light,”. He
called the light “day,” and the darkness he called “night.”  And there was evening, and there was
morning of the first day….
God took a whole week to create the earth. He created vegetation; birds flying in the sky; great
creatures in the sea and wild animals on the ground.
Then God said, “Let us make mankind in our image and likeness, so that they may rule over all
living creatures“ And he called the first man ADAM.
God was feeling a little bit lazy and needed a siesta. He appointed ADAM as some sort of helper.
And this is how, in the morning of the first day on earth, ADAM came up with the idea that the world
belonged to him.
“… the LORD presented every living creature to Adam and whatever he called them, that was their
name..."
The world was built with WORDS, and with this ability to name, we received the ability to create;
the ability to transform; since WORDS where the same tools the LORD used for his own creation.

And during the morning of his first day on earth Adam saw a huge animal eating grass at the
meadows; and he thought for himself:
From now on you shall be called COW.
You shall be called HAMBURGER.
You shall be called MILK.
You shall be called LEATHER
You shall be called HIGH HEEL SHOES.

And Man looked to the floor and he saw the mud under his feet;
and he thought for himself:
From now on You will be called CLAY
You shall be called BRICK.
You shall be called HOME.
You shall be called TOWN.
You shall be called NATION.
You shall be called BORDERS.
And only those who I choose will be welcome inside.

And he looked to the sky and saw a shinny thing that called his attention,
and he thought for himself:
From now on you will be called MOON.
You shall be called SATELLITE.
You shall be called CONTROL.
You shall be called ENEMY.
You shall be called WAR.
You shall be called DEATH.
And when the LORD woke up from his siesta he could barely recognise the world that hours ago
he had created. He turned to man and with a disapproval look he question his deeds.

-What a fuck did you do??? You broke the present I gave you!!!
But Adam could only reply that he was busy WORKING.
WORKING?
Yes my LORD.
WORKING
-What does working even mean?
-WORKING is the thing I do to earn my LIVING.
I earn my living to make some MONEY.
And I need MONEY to buy my STUFF.
The stuff that I collect in my HOUSE.
The HOUSE that I need to protect my PRIVACY.

The LORD realised, “It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make him a suitable partner. So
the Lord put Adam to sleep; and while he was sleeping he removed a rib. Then the Lord made a
woman from the rib and brought her to the garden.
The man said: You are bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; you shall be called ‘EVE’.
And he saw EVE walking naked in the Garden of Eden
and he thought for himself:
From now on you will be called WOMAN.
You shall be called WIFE.
You shall be called MOTHER.
You shall be called PUSSY.
You shall be called ARSE.
You shall be called Love.

And they started multiplying…

You shall be called SON.

And new men where born…

You shall be called BROTHER.

And some became jealous of others…

You shall be called MURDER.

And one night she was no longer there…

And no matter how much he search, EVA could not be found…
You shall be called LONELINESS.
And with this loneliness ADAM lost hope
You shall be called DESOLATION.

And all by himself ADAM felt a knot growing in his chest

You shall be called FEAR.

And mankind organised in communities…

you shall be called DEMOCRACY…

MONOGAMY

TOLERACE

FAITH

HEIMAT

HOMELESS

SENSORSHIP

GRENZEN

PASSPORT

AUSLÄNDER

UNDENKBAR

STILLE
IN PRAISE OF LIES
Let us gather for the love of lies.
Rejoice in lies.
Tiny tiny lies like crawling ants
And monumental, gigantic, humongous lies piling up to the moon.
To lie beyond our imagination, for the sake of invention.
For the pleasure that comes from conjuring SOMETHING whose existence has been denied so far.

Or… To lie to forget the guilt,

And repeat the lies until there is not a single trace of truth left.

To lie with crisp detail.

Lies embellished with truth…
… and viceversa.
Let’s remember that there is no better lie than the one born from the truth.

To lie improvising and by heart.

To lie crocodile tears, if it is true that crocodiles never stop crying.
To lie out of kindness and wearing yellow.

Recite our lies to the crowd.

Soak our souls in lies.
Smear our faces with make-up to be ready to lie to the world:

To lie at job interviews.

To lie at the border control.
To lie to the traffic warden,
To lie to our friends,
To our lovers,
To our neighbours,
To our family,
To our nation.

To lie under oath.

To lie at the end of a day filled with routine.

To lie out of boredom.
To lie to lighten up a silence that goes on for too long.
To lie to hide the agony of not being happy beside the ones who love us the most.
To lie words of comfort.
To lie when the person in front of us is as desperate to hide the truth as we are.

To lie a Handshake,
a hug.
A Kiss.
Or several…
In an attempt to prolongue the inevitable.
To lie from the other shore of a king size bed.

Pretend to be shocked in the face of what we discover too soon,

or to deny what we acknowledge too late.

Let us gather in lies,

erase our faces….
disguise our bodies…

and rejoice.

OBLIVION
(PETR writes at the blackboard the words highlighted in red.)

I can’t write

I´ve spent night over night writing and erasing

babbling…
Feeding with words the reptile
That spins in my brain
I abort ideas even before conceiving them
As soon as verse is born
It s swallowed by the next one
With cannibalistic eagerness for silence.

Under my eyelids
My dreams turn into nightmares
that I never remember
And I wake up
Confused
Searching for that urgent word
Memoryless

tenant of a speechless body

Craving for an urgent word

A single urgent exorcising word:

OBLIVION

ABSENCE

DREAMS

HEIMAT

QUESTIONS
ORGASM

MEMORIES

INTERCOURSE

LIGHT

HORIZON

OSTRACISME

PEACE* (PEAS) PLEASE

PEAS?

NO

PEACE PLEASE (PIECE)

PEACE (PISS)

PEACE

PEACE

BREAST

BREATH

DEATH

IMPERMANENCE

TRAUM

TRAUMATISME

TRAVEL

TRANSIT

JEALOUSY

FORGIVENESS

COMPASSION

SPRACHE

DRACHE
FENCES

SILENCE

BEGGINING

TOLERANCE

VIRUS

AUSLÄNDER (CUE FOR THE NEXT SECTION)

FREUND

FREMD

FEIND

EMPATHY

MONOGAMY

ZAUBER

EROS

HORIZON

ILLUSION

GENUINE

BEAUTY

CARROT

ZEIT

SWEAT

WONDER

DISONANCE

KÖRPER

FORGIVENESS

LIGHT

ABSENCE
LONELINESS

ABSENCE

YOU

ABSENCE

YOU

YES

YOU

CADAVRE EXQUIS
(JACK TEXT PUPPET)

Where am I?
Beside the lonely tree I stand…
I’m here?
yes, I’m here
Where am I going?
Beside the lonely tree I stand…
Tricks are in my hair and hand,
I’m here
Can´t speak anymore
my teeth are sharp
Where am I going?
I walk on their bones
I walk on my own 
Tricks are in my hair and hand.
From underneath your dress
they reach but they never touch
I just keep going

Day after day

I aim up high
I sweat
I bleed
I follow my pride
These horns are heavy
nice and round
dusty
fifteen meters long

I just keep going

Then at the dawn

Ready to rest
I crumble,
I tremble,
I stumble
We fail

TAROT
el loco 0

where am I going
I’m here
yes I’m here
now I hold my stick
and I put on my hat

The magician 1

Beside the lonely tree I stand,

Tricks are in my hair and hand,
One sees through dice, take heed,
as feet begin to bleed.
This is the secret of the missing leg

el ermitaño 9

this curtain is blue

nice and round
dusty
fifteen meters long
ahhhh
can i fit it all in?
bulgaria 
japan
la fuerza 11

from underneath 
your dress
my teeth
are sharp
can´t speak anymore
eleven

la muerte 13

i walk on their bones

i walk on my own 
they reach but they never touch
so i just keep going

el diablo 15

I have a twin
but we can’t breathe
these horns are heavy
my mum has wings
she feeds us with her tit
the sword is stuck

la torre 16

Day after day

We aim up high
We sweat and we bleed
We follow our pride
Then at the dawn
Ready to rest
We crumble, we tremble,
We stumble we fail

W
1-WE WONDER WHO WE WHERE…
2- WHY WE WAIT?
3- WHERE WE WALK?
4-WHO WAS WHO?
5-
6-