Much of Artaud’s theory on theatre can be classified as the dramaturgy of the actor. It’s easy to see why Butoh originator Hijikata found a shared sensibility and stratagem for performance in Artaud’s writings. One of his prized possessions was the recorded copy of Artaud’s radio broadcast. This tape of To Have Done With The Judgement Of God was played when Hijikata choreographed Min Tanaka in a performance entitled Ren-ai Butoh-ha Teiso (Foundation of the Dance of Love).
To work toward performance with certain sections of To Have Done with the Judgment of God will be more difficult than others. Some of the writing, as the saying goes, is just pure caca.
Where it smells of shit.
it smells of being.
Man could just as well not have shit
kept his anal sack closed
but he chose to shit
like he could have chosen to live
instead of consenting to live dead.
Because in order not to make caca,
he would have had to consent
not to be,
but he could not make up his mind to renounce
in other words, to die alive.
There is in being
something particularly tempting for man
and this something is indeed
Ankoku Butoh often explores unknown or taboo territory of the human body. Butoh-Fu (“fu” means score in Japanese) uses words and images to create the mise en scène through which the actor moves.
The actor is a Rain Dog.
Maybe I should say something about the title of the album, “Rain Dogs”. You know dogs in the rain lose their way back home. They even seem to look up at you and ask if you can help them get back home. ‘Cause after it rains every place they peed on has been washed out. It’s like “Mission Impossible”. They go to sleep thinking the world is one way and they wake up and somebody moved the furniture. —Tom Waits
Rain Dog, there is no home for you.
You have roamed too far from your patron. Your only audience now is the-hand-that-feeds-you. You have nothing but contempt, yet dare you bite the-hand-that-feeds-you? If only you could go wild, back to wolf again. Then you would remember, only then would you remember, the-hand-that-feeds-you is also food.
And even if the house-trained can never go wild again, they can still go feral.
Feral Rain Dog.
The patron is frantically posting LOST DOG signs on the trees in a widening circle around 59th St-Lexington Ave.
Words are similar to memories are similar to scents.
The body is word is a vessel to be cracked open so the myrrh within is released.
The COLLABORATION of directors, writers, dramaturgs, and designers have created a world of Gawkers.
Feral Rain Dog, can you find your way home, again?
(Random and anonymous Gawker comments Thursday morning in Brooklyn and Manhattan south. Scents,memories, butoh-fu for dance home. )
“Asscake deathvenom animal carcass … Burnt rubber.”
“Hungover white whine shits.”
“Something dead and decaying … Old outhouse poop … Fresh poop … Sewer water … Urine post-asparagus buffet .. Breath of a hungry old lady … Stinks like puke.”
“Like a trip up the ass of a homeless man.”
“Urine, fresh mildew, and dirty penis.”
“Burnt rubber, sweat.”
“Sweat and construction … African oils, incense … Sweaty poop stink.”
“Bum urine, sometimes vomit.”
“Urine and bleach.”
“Made fresh daily – feces in all forms.”
“Homeless piss and bleach … Pissoir from hell … Like bucket after bucket of piss.”
“Dead vomit … Evil diarrhea … Peaches … Fermented shithouse … Hobo urine and AAA batteries … Like a family of rats died in the wall and is festering there … Two-day-old vomit and crayons.”
“Rotting fish juice.”
“Like a homeless man’s sweaty ass that his drunk friend just puked on … Cocaine … a mixture of shit and pool water … Extruded out of Satan’s ass … Rat poison … High-school chemistry class … Really moist, crumbly, moldy dirt … Fried food.”
“Mold, wet wool, old plaster … Dead rats en masse … Like a mushroom farm … Dirt and soil … Weed … Honeyed rot marinated in hummus … Stinky feet … Gangrene … Entrance to Bloomingdale’s smells like flowers, leather, and rich people.”
59th St-Lexington Ave