Duality

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"Sleepless nights, weariness and pain, nights in white in where all those monsters from nightmare is materialized and jump to it real, dark nights, heartbreak coated, shady memories and solitude sound"

Fantasy or Reality?

Dualities is a short story adapted to the theatre, a story where esotericism, psychology and poetry merge to ensnare the reader, to try to surprise him and to be involved in the work.

A story written long ago, but that has patiently waited their turn sleeping in placid way at the Works, the end result has left me stone, while it translated to the English had the impression of being copying to another author, not having never written this story.

Made the presentation... it starts... the mini function.

Upload the mini curtain and stage a character lies asleep in what looks like an Artist's Studio, another character strangely dress seems to recreate is while is walks slowly by between them works placed in the walls of the room and when the sleeper opens his eyes the visitor to not be discovered Rouse is in a corner.

The sleeper is incorporates and managing is to the public makes some strange signs with them hands, turn, grab the brushes and after searching between the cans of paint are available to continue with one of his last paintings, you look in a mirror and cursed the Devil, to conclude the rite is directed to the representation of Jesus Christ out of their hands, gently caress the fabric and with the touch loving begins to wander.

Why have

Since

on my way

The good

and the bad?

Why my

Pain?

Why this

Torment?

Why this

Absence

Of humanity?

Why the

Horror

The target

Prevents me

Fly?

The sleeper becomes aware of the presence of hidden in a corner, the looks and asks who it is and it does there, the visitor figure illuminates and emerging from his impromptu hiding place begins to tell.

Don't be afraid,

I am you and

You are I,

I am a product

Your imagination.

I am that part of you that you saved from the wrath, that paints your blue sadness and which extols all those moments of passion. I am the energy that moves your hands when you draw, when sculpt, when das form a poem and when you do music, I am all that I am and still many more things of you, , but essentially I'm that life force that you tie to life, I am a piece of heaven, a piece of ice that melts when walking, I am a sea of Moon and a desert of Sun, I am that wandering star that you brightened a dark night, that's why I ask that...

Don't be afraid,

You are I and,

I am you,

I am a stronghold

Of your heart.

The image of the visitor is blurs until wrapped in misting ends up disappearing by full, sleeper starts whispering, but it ends up screaming disjointed sentences about love, about religions, against the authority and against the servitude imposed by sex.

I'm up to Cunt,

Of santons,

Of false prophets,

In vain,

Of envious

And of monsters.

Do not go,

Stay here,

I need you

I am wounded,

I'm expired,

Aged and,

With a brand

Pain

In the chested.

I am here

I need you

I am lost,

I'm sold,

Cursed and,

With the brand

Of losing

In the face.

I'm up to the bowknot,

In fact,

Of false recipes,

Of liars,

Of obtuse

And monsters.

Do not go,

Stay here, and

Tell me who you are.

Sleeper collapses between profanity and lamentations, a voice answers to each of the questions trying to relieve the sleeper of all their frustrations, the public applauds and slowly going down the mini curtain.

I am that woman,

With the worst

Of the men.

I am that man,

With virtue

Of a woman.

I'm that child that

Play challenging

The danger and

That girl that dreams

With a better world.

I am water and fire,

Earth and air,

I am a sand and salt.

I am heaven and hell,

Blood and flesh,

I am good and evil.

I'm that piece of soul

That no one can touch,

I am that madness which,

We drown when you wake up.

I am noise and silence,

Everyone and anyone,

I am light and darkness.

I am the father and the son,

The daughter and the mother,

I am duality.

I am that woman,

With the worst

Of the men.

I am that man,

With virtue

Of a woman.

I'm that child that

Play challenging

The danger and

That girl that dreams

With a better world.

Lucas Lazar. Demolishing Myths.

The racism, the male chauvinism  and the sexism are scourges that is transmitted from parents to children generation after generation, beneath each skin there are bones, there is blood, pain, dreams, joys and the sadness of people trying to be.

Appreciation and Dedication:

For this written I've inspired in the Songbook of The Lovely of Worms of the artist of Oregon Karen Dalyea, two of his paintings, Jesus Christ and the Eyes of Shiba are part of the main set, and it is her whom I dedicate this strange writing.

We feel the same passion for sculpture, the painting and the poetry. I strum the guitar, you do sound the banjo and feel the same love for the theater. I speak of death, of love and of life, You recite the Songbook of the Lovely of Worms.

"We are so little thing, a speck of dust in the immensity, we are like a slab, as a cry in the dark, We are like those roses that bloom and wither in the solitude of an inhospitable world"

Duality.

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