The Penis Elegies: The Third Elegy

This dripping tends to leave me with a tendency
Filled with hopeful histrionics that make sense of nothing.

A pearl-white necklace worth little more than spit or piss
Covers my face with a glaze of broken desire.

Disappointment washes over me more than I can bear
When you fuck me like you care.
Like I’m some sort of virgin school girl.
Like I’m some sort of innocent lamb.
Like I’m some sort of Disney princess.

I need you more when you disgrace me
With affection that resembles a heart
Shaped like a loaded pistol.

Gestus part 1

Rooted in Chinese Opera, Geste is a dramatic tool, utilising gesture to convey character rather than psychological acting techniques.


In it’s simplest form Brecht used the term Gestus to refer to a strong image, a tableau vivant, that could ecapsulate a scene without words. He also used a similar term, Geste, to refer to the simple strong physical gestures that could be used by an actor to convey or embody a character without having to inhabit the internal reality of a character as an actor following, for example, Stanislavsky’s teachings. Both of these ideas can be discussed under the banner “The Gestus”

So what does this mean for our production of Outbreak? Theory’s all very well but without practical applications it becomes, by turns, the terrifying and tedious contents of textbooks. Well, one way that the Gestus has proved invaluable for us has been as a way of displaying the power relationships between without having to tell the audience everything. Our set is very simple; black, plywood platforms set…

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Scripts by Audrey Baldwin

It is Saturday. I have an appointment at 2.20pm. I don’t know what for.

All I know is this: performance art.

Arrive early at the Art Space and wander for 10 minutes or so.

Appointment in the booth, but booth is occupied.

Two voices. One female. The other male.

2.25pm. Audrey, who I am meeting, pops out, as does the unknown male.

They say goodbye. He leaves. I enter.

My session, appointment, show, whatever…begins.

We talk – I know Audrey from the past.

The past: Christchurch.

Right hand lies open. Fingernails ready to be painted.

Covered in red nail polish. Red like blood. Dark dark dark red.

A table laid out with assorted items. Pick up to 5, she says.

Boost, googly eyes, charcoal, rope. Why?

I don’t know.

She strips. Turns her back towards me.

Her ass is covered in eyes.

Eyes (mine) watching her ass. Her eyes (ass) watch me.

Stare at the ass and the ass stares back at you.

I draw her.

Tick tock…boost fizzes, counting down like an hourglass.

We speak of our art briefly as this goes on.

We both wish for audiences to be less passive.

More… involved.

More… engaged.

More… culpable.

Artaud is mentioned.

Maybe a cinema or theatre of…


She hands me the script.

A prescription, perhaps.

A script to live by, perhaps.

A gift, perhaps.

The show is over. Life goes on.

Nathan's script