olya
salimova
origins
performance with Ále Campos, Spencer Gale, and Juliette Morris
15 min
Chicago Artists Coalition, Chicago, IL
Is it something like a language? A metaphor
for language? Or is language a metaphor for it?
Of cause, of cause. But more like many languages
than one. Like what we call a language
family, which is to say, a swarm–a swarm
in time, in which the living keep on dancing
with the dead because the dead keep flying,
close beside the not-yet-born.
Robert Bringhust, Life Poem
during the times when we had to cuddle pressing our shivering bodies against each other stretching our frozen limbs toward the tepid light of the lonely star in those mists of time we knew that we had to keep dreaming we knew that if we don’t dream enough myths we will perish and our only star that will run out of energy and no new worlds will be born again and everything will go back to darkness so we hold our breath as long as we can…
we thrust against the remnants of the last written ledger of previous world slowly first and then faster we start to swing and then we spin to increase the velocity so that cold cosmic air freshens our mind and we dream we dream harder and soon the first little specks of dreamworld starts to shoot out of our bodies like popcorn now the challenge is to catch them before they fall into the void and inadvertently sprout into the world counter clock-wise and we dodn’t want to be responsible for it
we grasp the popcorn dream bits and throw them one by one into a pot with star dust that we scrape from our palms we spit on our palms and rub them against each other and clap and dance and stir the broth with the paddle of the previous makers and then and then the first protozoa the beginning of Sun People hymenoptera oh they are beautiful so beautiful(though not that beautiful like us of cause) and they smell of their mothers they smell of us
