Meow meow meow meow
Meow meow meow meow

Because a curtain call might suggest you have some need for or relationship to the audience. And clearly these self-indulgant rites were merely meant for the performers alone. Better to look at the pretty pictures in the eventual coffee table book and skip the three hours of (not literal, unfortunately, because maybe that would have been interesting) masturbation.

Big deal. I can do all of that except the pheasants at home.

I HATE endorsing anything (on a blog), books, tv, movies, esp political causes. With that said, my experience of reading Jean Genet, is that he has a knack for unfolding the power relationships between people.

"Jessie Smith choreography" would have been the only valid reason to brave Ryan Mitchell's fleetingly enthralling but ultimately flimsy and vacuous performance tableau -- sorry, "aesthetic declaration", as he is fond of insisting his work be meaninglessly described.

Much as I might continue to be curious, I could not bring myself to contribute $20 to what appears to be Mitchell's perpetual ego-thought-loop, impervious to intellectual and artistic growth.

Hey, kids: New York's hottest nightclub is Saint Genet. It's got Gothic anguish, degeneracy, nakedness, wine, and a wheat field. Also, gold leaf, honey, tar, blood, wax, flowers, leeches, pheasants, and arrows. And Jessie Smith. And Jessie Smith choreography. And Jessie Smith wearing a weird cape thing with a very long tail with egg-carton-like shapes bulging from it. And music. And weird, beautiful acts of endurance. And gay shame and bullying. And the most perfect curtain call of all: None at all.