he calls them invites them makes the circle.
then the trick with the snake. we all know how those things end.
then he has a choice: he can pretend it never happened and try to become one of them, or he can just leave.
either way he makes his way, with every one, to another room.
there is a chair, a white chair.
has he been here before? perhaps, but not the chair, no no no, he has never ever seen it, or…
what have I done? what have these hands done.
he leaves dragging the chair behind. looking for a place to hide.
or perhaps to disappear altogether. he wanders till he finds himself at the foot of a ladder going all the way up to the moon. what is a man to do?
caligula, the actual one, gets his bust made, thousands of them, and orders that the heads of statues of gods and goddesses be broken and replaced with his heads. now that is what I call iconography in performance.
and he says in the end, really, ‘I’m still alive.’ no wonder.
