Kiersty Boon’s, ‘Portrait of gingatao”

It wasn’t me, it was that damn performative again.

Upstairs the naked ladies dance

Downstairs in a ill-lit room a tiny man
sits on a wooden chair and rubs his hands
together with a wicked grin then
scribbling in the ship’s manifest
“manifest – to reveal one’s presence”,
like an unwanted guest, not ghost

manifest, oh, manifest
your music with your words be dressed

manifest, oh, manifest
abradabra ullulates, magic
and hey presto,
from this jumble of silly sounds
bring forth your manifesto,

Showtime

III. (Parts one and two are left absent for the readers own interpretation).

 

I have been released from the process by keeping myself locked up in here. Outside they are very happy because their redemption is their delusion. In here I try to make myself happy in a multiplicity of ways. I know that there are no second chances- in fact I am afraid of second chances, so I am learning to like this. Before I go I want to give you a little peak of the upstairs. It is quiet and calm and there is not a lot of damn talking!! Everything is freshened up and there are no dumb asses making a mess of things. First of all, right now I am going to stop talking. I still have work to do, which is about half done. I need to make sure things are in order- that the play list makes sense. I am going to down load the car crashes, the over packed hospitals and the corpses in the streets. People are soon to come in and take their seats so I need to make sure everything is complete. As far as I know- the down stairs will soon be full. While I am waiting for things to start- I must make sure all the scenes are in place. It is almost time to go but I am still unclear about what I need to do.