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from The Goddess and Leonard Cohen by LAUREN RAINE All Photography (c)2004 Fred Ellis
APHRODITE Dance is to "Dance me to the end of love", by Leonard Cohen. The
stage consists of three levels; to the upper right is the realm of
the Goddesses. Here is posed the masked Aphrodite, spotlighted. The
second level, middle left, has a raised platform on which is a table and
chair. Nadine is seated at the table, with a glass of wine, and a
photobook in front of her. She is reminiscing. Below
her sit the Polarities: in this case, a masked Demon and a masked
Angel. They are tenderly holding hands and peering into each
others faces. Nadine: Men.
Why do I always have to deify or demonize them, and then obsess, obsess,
little pieces of me lost bit by bit.....where? Where do all those
little pieces of self go? Do they steal them from me when they go?
Or do they wander in the dark like lost children, the shy little parts
of me, always trying to find their way home? Why
can't we just reproduce by some kind of cell division? You know,
you look in the mirror and notice a few weird bulges. So you pack
a bag and check into the local mitosis center for a birth of self
retreat? I've
never been very good at it. What they call "sex".
To be honest, it offends me.
O
brave New World! And
beneath the skin, there is ......something so vast spilling out like a
super nova through the cracks of every kiss, every stupid,
heartbreaking, hilarious drama, every tear streaked parting.
You look back embarrassed; what was that all about? And then you
come up with therapy for why your immersion in Aphrodite's tide pool
was.....dysfunctional. Co-dependant. Delusional. Gag
me. Did
you know that the word Whore comes from a Middle Eastern word that means
Priestess? Hora, Hara. It meant a priestess of love, not
sex, or intercourse, but love, making love. (reflective)
(takes
a drink of wine) Ah,
Aphrodite. She'll rip you apart. In Her waters. With
no answers, no fucking opinion. Oh, you'll come up with a few of
them later, because it didn't fit into any self-improvement course you
ever took. Ha! Fit the ocean into a coke bottle
if you can. You
may think that's what you've done. All figured out. But you
find yourself haunted by old ghosts that chase you around the
house like dust balls, you sweep and sweep, but they always come back.
Old ghosts with eyes like leaves, lips like flowers. The moments
when you were......so alive. You remember. Sweet Goddess, you
remember.
I
remember, I erase my regrets from the storyline. I remember when
everything ignited, when all of Your waters flowed from my beautiful
cunt, Aphrodite. And rippled out like waves to all the world. And
we made love. AND WE MADE LOVE. And we made love. And
we blessed all of Your creation. And
those, those are moments worth remembering. Ah,
Aphrodite. I
am unmade in your waters. (Demon
and Angel go to stand on either side of Nadine) |
Sex.
Cornflakes, Cheerios. Names. Labels. Sex
surrogates, swing parties, S&M, dominator and dominated,
single bars. Maximize your orgasmic potential. Buns of steel and
penis enlargers. Let's all "have sex" like having a
beer. Have each other. Consumable. Buyable. Disposable. 
The
hell with it. (APHRODITE TINKLES LAUGHTER) I loved
them all. Their potbellies and sweat and bad jokes, all the Gods
that possessed them..............And I will not forget.
I remember candlelight. Moonlight, beaches, whiskey bars,
kissing goodbye at airports and somehow, never, ever to meet
again.........all those breaks and tears to touch.....What? A River.
Rivers. The River.