E

Evangelia Dimitrakopoulo & Chloe Turpin (COLLABORATION), TO HOST,  installation, performance and durational reading, The Change Room, London, aug 2019. 

...
Just here, between the lips lies the shapeless matter, about to be unravelled. It’s time for satisfaction. The dark matter is in process, it fills the cavities, the cracks, it goes through. I feels, I is empty. I is the very thin piece of skin, the darker tissue that contains nerves fibres. I is connected, made of plastic. feel the material. It just keeps going, sliding on the sides, resting in the bottom. It will change colour and taste, eventually. It passes the holy border, the narrow hollow area on the surface, it’s going back and forth, I is the swallow. Ingestion, the tangible presence of the unknown making its way through the body. And the matter remains opaque, the light is not travelling through anymore, through the gaping hole. As it reaches the outside, it becomes translucent and loses intensity. I wants it inside. I wants it to be part of themselves. It’s creating the delicate entity that contains, the organic envelope welcoming the dust, the lies and the sincere wish for communion. The lust will come first, and the desire will follow. There is enough space here to welcome the unforeseen. It’s a gentle fight, the necessary negotiation. Of doubt, I makes secrecy. Solely formless and under disguise, the travel is slow and the pace consistent. It has to stay in the fantasy to find its truth and meaning. The substance is in but I is outside. I lies just here, in the middle, the transition, where change can take place. It’s a dreadful state that of uncertainty. The words are amorphous, dead. I can see without eyes, it’s a presence of some sort that of the loss and the feeling of fear. the febrile shivering of excitement towards the unfamiliar. I is here but disappearing, in a constant flow. It refuses the settlement and refuses to lose its grace. Contamination can happen. Just here, under the lips, is the spectacle to take shape. It’s time for illusion, the great mind to feed itself. And here goes the journey into forgotten and forsaken places. I is losing, and consumed. It’s an eternal wandering, the acceptance of the intruder’s presence. I can see beyond the eyes. Of the sound coming from their mouth, I can hear the sonic and subtle quest for love, the very fragile impulse for an exquisite momentum when I can finally get lost. Pain is not far, right under the subtle glaze of passion. The fluid starts its route in a specific point in the body. One where it disappears and weaves in and out and stagnating, takes the smell of the wound, the narrow hollow area on the surface. Close your lips, where the dark matter remains, ready to be shared and devoured. Offering to others, ingested and spitted out, constantly altered. What comes out of the mouth is body, mute, dense, sensation of extreme discomfort and ecstasy. It is there before it exists, an agent of care and blissful delight. What comes before the eyes is the abyss where I dives in concealment, feeling the pulse, following the kiss.
...