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Edible CHOCOBITE Phallus | My Sex in Chocolate | Self-moulding on the spot © David Noir

Journal des Parques J-19

Cocoa idol, my phallus becomes edible for those who can suck its meaning.

PARQUES - INSTRUCTIONS FOR USE - Part 4

2 phases for the second group of dates. Phase 2:

April 23rd: THE HUNDRED SKIES OF A LIVABLE WORLD 2

I've indicated on the site:

Hopscotch - Earth, hell, sky  

pseudo solo by David Noir & Co

All alone or almost alone, I'm looking for the way back. It seems inaccessible this area of my head? What if I went through yours? You're looking at me like a deer on a hunt. Be nice this time, don't shoot.

Understanding what you do is an unassailable limit.

These pseudo solos are for me a great opportunity to avoid trying to do it. It would have been easy for me to perform alone, as I did before during the creation of the first episodes of The Fleece sleeps. Not that I would not like to reproduce the experience in other circumstances, but to "reduce" to a simple spectacular and well-framed performance, the opportunity given to me to live for some time in a space like The Generator...would have seemed to me a fundamental error, not to say stupidity. It is not only its vastness that is at stake and the difficulty of "occupying" it alone (I exclude here any idea of reproducing in the heart of such a space a fake theatre scene; any shed would do in this case). Well beyond its walls, (I have already had the opportunity to talk about it on several occasions in this blog), it is its vocation for performance and contemporary creation, as intended by its designer, which makes it necessary to think twice without rushing headlong into it. The Generator naturally offers challenges to whoever wants to take it on. Those who perform in it are free not to worry about it. For my part, when I am lucky enough to come face to face with a sphinx, I intend, at the very least, to try to get around the riddle it poses. What's the point of being interested in the performing arts if it's to lug around his miserable creation like a pedlar, from fair to fair, without ever being grazed by the idea of reconsidering his design other than to bring it within the constraints of the box. It is important to remember that the theatre, whatever its form, is first and foremost a building.

The stage is a physical affair where the concrete of the materials, from floor to ceiling, plays a role equivalent to all the others that will evolve under his influence.

I think there is sufficient reason today to ask directors of all stripes who have the ambition to think about the relationship with the audience without considering the problem to go and take their creative baccalaureate. Is this a way of approaching this famous audience by asking them again and again to close their hatches to the environment in which they will enter into their perception of things?

Ah the famous magic of the black box and the dust-collecting pendants!

As far as I'm concerned, I'm not five and a half, and when I'm somewhere I look around. You don't have to be Ulysses to escape the siren songs of the nerd who keeps hooting at us "Ooh ouh! Over here, let yourself be intoxicated by the mysterious beauty of the decor we've created for you! Whoo-hoo! Can you feel the emotion flooding through your child's heart in front of this 650-watt loupiotte pointed at this serious and concerned face? Whoo-hoo! Fascination, fascination! This way, this way... What, are you looking up?! You snoop around, annoyed, with your nose in your bag during the ritual of the show?! Don't you have any sensitivity to the poetry that is revealed before your eyes, which should be filled with wonder and happiness, that rings in your ears bathed in the depth of words ? »

Well, no; probably not.

Sorry ma'am, I'll come back some other time.

"Shit, then," said the fairy godmother. "You've got a lot of nerve. We're trying our best to help you find your child's soul, to make you think through the mystical labyrinths of human nature, to put balm on your pains of unlovedness; and you... my ass! You're a little picky, little daddy!"

Yes, yes; it has to be. The trouble, most of the time, is that what they have to tell me, the brave artists, I already know; I've been there on my own. Claudizing, losing my luggage, finally finding myself there; I've been there before. It's like an air of déjà vu. Unfounded claim? Free to anyone to think so. That's how it happens to me, that's all. I will therefore only have in mind, during this second phase of pseudo solo, to escape the understanding of my motivation to be there before your eyes - no doubt far from your eyes, to flee the predatory spectator eager for good constructed stories, to escape into the torment of an incessant hopscotch leading from earth to heaven and from heaven to hell.

Fleeing, fleeing, fleeing, the night of the hunter, the quest for the Good Samaritan who wants to be my neighbour. Experiencing the presence of others at a distance. Hiding but still being there, slipping through walls. To become one with a space that loudly proclaims its strength to be, with no need for anything to happen. This is what I feel in the Generator's enclosure, which bears its name like a blazon to the glory of self-sufficiency well lived. Nothing needs to happen there for its mystery to exist. "Come and take me," he says.

We will try, together perhaps, not to spoil anything of what emanates from this church without religion, by our ant-like actions.

Today is both Easter Monday and the 1st of April.er April.

Edible CHOCOBITE Phallus | My Sex in Chocolate | Self-moulding on the spot © David Noir
Edible CHOCOBITE Phallus | My Sex in Chocolate | Self-moulding on the spot © David Noir

Neither fish, nor joke, nor rabbit, my chocolate sex, phallus for a cannibal public, is displayed on this page as a totemic symbol of the presence I wish to embody in this place.

already a mythical sanctuary in my interpreter's eyes.

A virile and sweet sweet sweetness, evocative in its forms and highly caloric for the senses; a witness of the contact of the folds of my skin that you can slip under your tongues. Modest idol of cocoa, I give it in response to the enigma of the sphinx, like placing a lighted candle, right in front of its altar.

Strong and gentle to penetrate your lair, I have no arrogance to step forward like this, my sacred offering in hand to honour your ritual, O God Generator.

I write with my dick and sign my passage in your fertile belly with a gustatory trick that is worth all the performances of the Odeon or the Rond-Point where, little finger in the air, one sighs at ease in front of the shows, as if eating a syrupy gulp of good chocolate for fags and old ladies from Angelina.

"Ah the spirituality of the theatre! " whispers to me the good fairy director. "You don't know what you're missing. »

No doubt, I know what I gain by replicating myself in phallic clones, claiming devotion rather than adoration. So, cannibal spectator friend, please eat me, that's why I'm here at 95% and with little or no fat; but enjoying, I hope, the bittersweet liquor I pour down your throat, don't end the banquet with a burp and applauding yourself for being so inspired to come and enjoy the culture in this friendly cathedral.

She also asks, of you also, better than that and I am curious to discover, which will be the small voodoo statuette, totemic divinity of your interior, that you will entrust to her from you.

My pornography

My prodigious mental space

David Noir

David Noir, performer, actor, author, director, singer, visual artist, video maker, sound designer, teacher... carries his polymorphous nudity and his costumed childhood under the eyes and ears of anyone who wants to see and hear.

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