THE HOUSE IS SLEEPING
1st era: JaZon's solos | Episode 1
FAMINE PASTA RICE
Excerpt from Episode 1
THE HAIR SMELLS GOOD
Artists are really a breed of misery that I loathe. Worse still, the art lover: the pure, finished idiot who believes from the top of his mental bourgeoisie of moron that there is greatness in not wanting to blend into the common where he already is. But the artist, worse than the worst, makes the precious it contains die as surely as the rest of the social world can, without sparing any thought and with a smile on his face. The artist is the most vile exploiter of the natural poetry of which he is the unfortunate receptacle and depository - and which he would do well to keep quiet, rather than encouraging the common man to believe that he knows what he is talking about when he thinks he is admiring a work. The artist in the making is the first culprit, the first murderer of this sympathetic child whom he shelters in his body. The sex of the young artist is an Aladdin's lamp that should be polished to make the genie spring forth and ooze his 3 dearest wishes: Glory, Wealth, Recognition! Glory, Wealth, Gratitude!
What does he not first put to death all this adult offspring, starting with his progenitors, before allowing himself the first verse, the first brushstroke, the first song emanating from his lips. No other witness than himself should unfortunately be his audience and all would be peaceful in the world, in ignorance of beauty. For no childhood is preserved here and the corpses pile up, lying on paper like whores on their slaughter beds. Miles of tails thread their way through the Grand Palais, as if between the thighs of a perpetual teenager who recovers his virginity with each new hang of his stained briefs, stretched over splendid golden frames. What a thrill!
Regression is the pinnacle of my relationship to the world and I conch all authors who spend an infinite amount of time correcting their papers rather than enjoying or wiping themselves at pleasure in sheets soaked with the mixture of their perspiration, intimate moods and ready-to-melt chocolate bars. Soon to be as popular as the turgidity of the phallus and the pussy in the symbol's aisle, the great fluidity of transit is about to hold the top of the paving stone in our hearts. The Institutions, therefore, are gradually becoming the immense providential basins called of our vows - with white enamelled and slippery edges - poetically devolved to the function of smuggler and stretched out to our citizen asses. They incite by the brilliance of their shine, to the diarrheal production of the authors well in front of the hole. I respect them for the efficiency of their siphon and the authenticity of their gaping hole into nothingness. It is up to me to shit cleanly in it, right in the center to spare the edges, like an elite of the nation aiming at the depths as well as the summits.
CYCLE - THE FLEECE SLEEPS - SEASON 2007-2008
Famine Pâte Riz est le 1er des épisodes de La Toison dort. Il a été créé les 26, 28 et 29 septembre 2007 à La Guillotine (Montreuil) grâce à l’ouverture d’esprit et la perspicacité bienveillante de Philippe Ahmed Braschi. Dieppe Scène Nationale (DSN) et son directeur d’alors, Jérôme Lecardeur, l’ont ensuite accueilli en collaboration avec le festival Corps de Textes créé par Marianne Clevy. C’est à L’Espace Jemmapes (Paris), que l’ensemble de cette première version de La Toison dort a été présenté, à raison d’un épisode par mois, à l’invitation de Moustapha Aïchouche.
Places of operation: LA GUILLOTINE | ESPACE JEMMAPES | Studio de DSN - DIEPPE SCÈNE NATIONALE
A creation by David Noir produced by L'Entreprise Noire in co-direction with L'Espace Jemmapes and La Guillotine.
DESIGN | INTERPRETATION | TEXTS | VIDEOS
© David NOIR
Lighting design | Stage Manager: Jérôme ALLART
Assistant: Any TINGAY
- 26 / 28 / 29 SEPTEMBER 2007 | LA GUILLOTINE
- 26 OCTOBER 2007 | ESPACE JEMMAPES
- MARCH 25, 2008 | DSN - DIEPPE NATIONAL SCENE