Frame of Relevance

a conceptual multimedia performance

Written and directed by

Harry Gamboa Jr.

Performed by :

Max Benavidez

Barbara Carrasco

Tomás Carrasco

Jesús "Chuy" Torres

Gary Fresquez

Maria Elena Gaitán

Diane Gamboa

Diego Gamboa

Linda Gamboa

Juan Garza

Ricardo Gonzalves

Ruben Guevara

Gronk

Karla Gutiérrez

Steven La Ponsie

Elizabeth Perez

Anthony C. Sandoval

Humberto Sandoval

Paulina Sahagún

Elias Serna

Otoño Lujan

Joe Troncoso

Tecpatl Vargas

Daniel Villarreal

FADE IN FROM BLACK:

VIDEO MONITORS:

VIDEO CASSETTES A, B, C, & D, play duplicate footage in desynchronized order continuously throughout performance (close-up-Barbara, Diego, Diane, and Gronk stare silently).

SLIDE PROJECTOR A:  Slides#1-#80

"Downtown"

SLIDE PROJECTOR B:  Slides#1-#80

"Freeway"

MAX walks across stage to microphone stand which is illuminated by spotlight.

STEVEN illuminates notebooks and objects with flashlights throughout length of performance.

MAX reads entire contents of

NOTEBOOK "A"

What does it mean to vanish when your presence has never been acknowledged? A blink of the eye and you are gone from memory.  Fate is a four letter word that erases us from the current discourse of "love to be hated".  

I once knew a man who committed suicide as a means of avoiding the perpetual awareness that he was inconsequential to everyone and everything around him. He dreaded making eye contact with the reflection in the mirror.  He had no desire to chase his imaginary monkey's tail in public.  His status as an outsider was overrated because know one ever cared if he was happy or cremated.  

Bad luck and diseases avoided him out of pity.  

He was alone in a universe of invalid emotions.  I speak of this man because he is an icon of our time, the anti-permanent remnant of the decaying society which scatters lives like the toxic dust in violent destructive winds.  I once saw him in a parking lot as he attempted to speak but his lips became distended useless flaps of flesh that were uncontrollable in the party-like atmosphere of multiple car crashes and drive-by shootings.  

He said many things that are inappropriate for living creatures.  

He believed in the beauty of anonymity.  He worshiped total strangers as they passed him by on the city streets.  One day he reached into his pocket and produced a knife which he then used to slit the wrists of several innocent bystanders.  

One of the victims wrote the following crimson note on the concrete sidewalk:

I refuse to recognize this blood as my own.
It belongs to the people.
May it flow freely on behalf of those who would
Walk on red water.
I am confused by my own weakness
And shortness of breath.
Wasn't I supposed to be having fun?
There are so many things to do
But none of it is important.
I was refused my right to be left in peace
But here I am
Cut nerves
Severed tissue
I am all wet in a puddle of warm rain.
Eternity is a hoax.

The other victims smeared the words with bloodied shoes until the indelible message was drenched in absolute deniability.  However, there is no proof that this crime was ever committed nor that these victims ever existed.

On another occasion, I witnessed this same man as he slapped the faces of anyone who smiled without permission.  He was devoid of acute sentimentality. There were several people who were wounded by sharp blows to the cheeks, forehead, nose, and mouth.  

I decided not to become involved and drank a double-espresso from a safe distance.  I was amused by the passivity of such a large crowd that was overwhelmed by the tantrum of an urban despot.  I laughed hard, partly because the caffeine was so electric but also because I enjoyed watching such an abusive game of tag.

Each time he struck a face he would say:

"Now that's my kind of meat".

He wasn't much of an intellectual nor was he a man of inaction.  He was a destructionist who arrived too late onto the arena of ground zero.  He was a thing of the past even before he reached the birth canal.  His future was etched in a concrete death mask.

There are times when I drive on the freeway with my eyes closed.

There are days when I decline to comment.

There are moments when the enormity of collective conformity allows me to disappear into the formless mass of silent conspiracies.

I don't want to praise the dead or raise them.

I can't eliminate the need to be brutal.

I won't apologize.

I won't cooperate.

I won't stand in line.

I won't count my blessings.

I won't stand for any of it.

I won't eat my taco.

I won't warn you that the bullet has your name on it.  It's your responsibility to avoid detection.

I won't bleed.

I won't think.

I won't remember.

LINDA, KARLA, CHUY, MARIA ELENA, and DANIEL enter dragging body bag which contains a body.  An argument develops slowly and bitterly as the various individuals complain that the bag does/does not belong at any given point on the stage.

Upon completion of reading, MAX turns to the noisy/disruptive crowd and yells:

MAX:    

Fuck you.  Get the hell out of here.

The crowd focuses their anger at MAX and everyone chases him off stage as they abandon the body bag.

PROJECTION VIDEO:  

VIDEO CASSETTE #1, play (slow motion montage of JUAN walking across pedestrian bridge over Pomona Freeway- approximately 3 minutes).

SLIDE PROJECTOR C:  Slides #1-#55

"Juan's Day"

PAULINA walks up to microphone and reads entire contents of

NOTEBOOK "B"

I can't dream any more.  It's because I never sleep. I haven't been comfortable in a long time.  

Whenever I'm alone, I stare into a bright light.  During the day I look into the distance and see absolutely nothing.  Sometimes I can recall a dream from a previous lifestyle.  

For instance, in one dream I recall that I was holding hands with him.  His hand felt dry as though it were the claw of a dead bird.  We were walking along a narrow path when he started to cry but his cries were more like the noise of a broken machine. I had never before heard anyone make that sound.  It scared me.  I tried to pull away but the claw dug deep into my hand and the pain was very intense.  I pretended not to feel a thing.  We continued to walk until we reached an enormous black hole.  With each step that we took into the darkness I had to reach out and switch the light on but it only illuminated the small area.  It must have been a minus zero watt bulb.  Sometimes I was able to catch a glimpse of his face but what I saw was not a face at all.  It was a strangely disfigured plastic object that resembled a dark cloud.  The dark cloud had a reddish glow that was burning fiercely. I wanted to touch the fire but my hands were frozen with fear. 

We continued to walk until we emerged at the other end of the black hole. The sun was shining brightly and the sky was blue.  It was a perfect day to hallucinate, that is, until he destroyed my life for a brief moment.  He wasn't powerful enough to do permanent harm.  His claw ripped through my hand and I became faint.  I drifted into painless dream-free sleep.  I slept for several years.  No one bothered to wake me up.  The alarm clock must have been broken.  

When I awoke, I saw that nothing had changed. It was as though I had only blinked.

I got out of bed and discovered that all of my skin had been peeled off like an emotionless lizard.  I stared at the strange form of scale which had been shed and realized that I was on my way to recovery.  I now had baby-skin but that too would also age and petrify.  I can't describe the sensation of raw nerves poking through innocence.  

I stepped outside and was immediately confronted by several people who demanded to know where I was from.  I told them that they were a disgrace to our planet.  They shot me twice in the head but somehow the bullets bounced off my skull leaving me with a convincing flesh wound to the head.  

They ran off feeling elated as I played dead. I remembered their faces and was easily able to locate them when I was eventually released from the hospital.  

I used a common fork to scoop out their frontal lobes.  My quick reflexes and focused determination was able to establish ruthless justice in a matter of minutes.  Vengeance is a delicious way to say thank you.  The newspapers wrote a generic article about gang violence that referred to my work as an example of random brainlessness.  I can recall verbatim what it said and I quote:

There are no suspects in the unexpected lowering of I.Q.s among the neighborhood street terrorists.  Brain matter scattered in case of blitz quiz.  Neurons short circuited by bite-sized jabs.  Gang disaster occurs when confronted by freak fork frenzy.

He never would have read that to me as a bedtime story. His idea of affection was to hit me on the soft side of the head.  He was never romantic but he once offered to place rose thorns across my eyes.  I remember him mostly for what he wasn't.  

The day we fell in love with one another caused me to vomit blood.  There are no metaphors in limbo.  My stomach churned until it burned and the eruption of unknown acids and particles of inedible byproducts sprayed across the sky until the light was engulfed and darkness reigned once again.  

I had fallen asleep in mid-sentence but somehow the dreams came a s a series of "P" words that continue to trouble me:

Plutonium, Plague

Penance, Prima donna

Piss, Purge

Parasite, Phallus

Precious, Puss

Peon, Pessimism

Pervert, Pinch

Pinche, Paramilitary

Pathogenic, Paralysis

Panic

I would never mention any of the "P" words in front of him because he was allergic to most letters of the alphabet.  The sight of a dictionary sent him in shock accompanied by hives. 

His life and memory deserves no definition.

The only recognition he got was in the form of a chalk outline on the sidewalk.  

It was as pretty as the picture would ever get.

Upon completion of reading, she goes over to the body bag and kicks it viciously several times.  PAULINA exits.

LINDA walks up to the microphone and reads entire contents of

NOTEBOOK "C"

I hated him on first sight.  

He suddenly appeared on the surveillance camera video screen at the convenience store. He was standing behind me but I could see his face and it needed whitewashing.  He was carrying a six-pack of beer and a bag of chips.

That's all I needed to know about someone who would generate havoc in my life for the next ten years. He must have hypnotized me.  

I should not have turned around and looked into his eyes.  

Despite my hatred for him, we got married the next day in Las Vegas.  I lost all of my nickels and shoes at the slots.  I gambled on everything and bet my sanity against his misfortune as I cried tears of rolling snake eyes.  It was a game of Chicana roulette as I loaded the deck with loser after loser, they were all the same jack asses-would-be-jokers, the only ace he had up his sleeve was my gullibility.  

He preyed on the goodness of my heart like a maggot in my burger.  He promised me cream pies in brown skies, lies after lies, he gave me a ring that turned my finger green.  He swore undying love as he sexually assaulted anything that wouldn't or couldn't resist.  

He looked so passive on that screen but it was really just a blur of emotional fiction that allowed for so much friction.  

It was like an itch that was destined to destroy.

On the day our son was born he went to a party where he met the mother of his daughter.  He was never there for me or for her.  He wasn't up to the task of fatherhood.  He was an absentee husband.  

He was a myth of grandiose proportions that in reality could not have provided enough substance for even the thinnest slice of pie.  I thought that hatred would subside into mediocrity, basically what passes for normal marriage, but his insincerity over every basic act of kindness increased my hostility towards him.  

His personality fluctuated with unexpected mood swings.  If he was happy, he'd steal my money and walk out the door.  If he was sad, he's eat my food and walk out the door.  If he was mad, he'd get drunk and choke me with the telephone cord.  

He treated our son as though he were a genetic mutant that had robbed him of his soul.  

One day our son was lost in a mysterious fire and that was the day he met the mother of his second son.  She was standing in the middle of the street watching our house burn to the ground.  He dialed 911 only after the structure was fully engulfed in flames.  They walked away together to the nearest motel.  

All of the pictures of my baby were turned to ash.  I try to remember what my son looked like but he resembled his father so much that I put both their images out of my mind.  

I prefer to remember the bluish fuzzy images of surveillance TVs in liquor stores and doughnut shops.  I can see myself in the company of total strangers.  I imagine that we are all involved in a schizoid melodrama that will be harmless fun.  I'm waiting for the day someone pulls out a gun and starts to shoot at the camera and then shatters the TV screen with a spray of bullets that will eliminate the need to know anything.  Let the bad guys put extra holes into the doughnuts.  I want to be one of the jelly rolls in a midnight massacre.  

I don't know why he never pulled the trigger every time he put the barrel of his assault weapon to my neck. Maybe he liked how I became so frightened. Maybe he was waiting for me to beg for mercy.  But he knew that he would never get that pleasure because I never beg.  I don't expect mercy and have never gotten it.  Mercy is for pedestrians who jay walk on the fast lanes of freeways.  It is better to hit them at 80 mph than at 40 mph because there is no pain at faster speeds.  Mercy is for saints who shave their heads to fit the saint-like motif.  Mercy is for someone who can't wait to get fucked and pays for it in pennies.  Mercy is a bullet to the back of the head.  Mercy is a poisonous cherry on top of it all.  No I don't want mercy and I can't beg to be spared the moments of loneliness, despair, regret, and fear.  

I miss my son but I've got to let him go.  He's got his own afterlife to live. But it's his father, my ex-husband, that guy in line with no ambition, who I'm trying to forget.  They say that I suffer from survivor's guilt because I'm the only one left alive from a disastrous relationship.  Maybe I should have died of a broken heart or I could have succumbed to some form of a nervous breakdown or mental collapse.  Instead, I'm stronger and more self-fulfilled that I've ever been. I wake up in the morning filled with optimism even before I've had my first cup of coffee.  I turn on the radio and I hear his voice.  It seems a bit strange but I accept the fact that he appears to me in surprising apparitions.  Sometimes he appears to me in different forms.  He's presented himself in reflections on glass or the surface of water, he's also been present whenever I'm alone for even a short period of time. I speak with him but it doesn't do any good because he's gone out the door forever.  

That son-of-a-bitch fucking asshole. I'll hate him until the end of time.  His personality was false. His love was fake.

He made babies.

He poisoned everything that he touched.

He could put you under his spell.

His kisses would send you to heaven.

He didn't care about anyone including himself.

He was a sociopath who deserved to be liquidated in his own hot juices.

Upon completion of reading she screams in terror and grief as she stands over the body bag.  She is hysterical.  CHUY runs on stage and assists her as they exit.

PROJECTION VIDEO:  VIDEO CASSETTE #2, play (commentary by MARIA ELENA-
approximately 4 minutes).

MAX enters slowly carrying banner followed by DIEGO.  MAX arrives next to body bag and remains silent.

DIEGO:     

He was shot, he was stabbed, he was dead meat before he was born.  It was a random act of self destruction.  It was a rumor gone wild on the city streets.  It was the desire to remain silent that killed him.

AUDIO CASSETTE #1:

Play (accordion music-approximately 2 minutes).

MARIA ELENA walks up to microphone and reads entire contents of

NOTEBOOK "D"

Many years ago when I was nearly beaten to death by an attacking battalion of riot police.

I experienced a brief moment of fear which was followed by decades of anger.  It was that anger that propelled me against all odds to succeed in whatever I set out to do.

I was initially blinded by the anger and attacked everything that resembled injustice.  The constant battle took its toll on my personal life.  

It was a form of psychological and social erosion.  

I believed that I would eventually be erased by the wearing and tearing effects of time over matter.  But I was wrong.  

I had never realized that the erosion had exposed a wonderful and brilliant gem which had been buried deep in my unconscious.  

I was no longer angry or filled with the desire for revenge. I was not interested in engaging in combative tactics on the streets or on the job.  I was more focused and clear-headed until the day he crossed my path.  

He was intent on ensuring that my family would starve.  

He was convinced that my ethnic group should be eliminated from participation in anything that would further he cause of promoting self-empowerment.  

He felonized the most peripheral of offenses and set the game board so that it would tilt in his favor.  

Three strikes and you're out.  All of the umpires were corrupt.  The players were equipped with shoot-to-the-head policies, 45 mm and 9 mm pistols that were guaranteed to do the job, all in all, it was certain to eliminate as many pawns as possible and to frighten the rest of us into submission.  

I tried to get angry but somehow I felt lucky just to be alive.  I knew it was wrong not to work towards the overthrow of this criminal who was posing as our leader but I had bills to pay.  I made it a point to avoid newspapers and TV news.  

I recognized the effects of laws that exposed our youth to perilous situations.  I cared about these issues but not enough to raise my voice let alone raise my fists.  I wanted to be left alone.  

But one day, the door was forcibly knocked down as an upgraded and tactically efficient squad of official thugs placed me in restraints as they extracted bio-samples, examined my encoded DNA, digitally recorded my brain waves and synthesized my thought patterns.  

I felt that I was being violated but I knew that they could not see beyond the façade of physicality.  They could not touch the light with me.  

Again, I was wrong.  

They injected me with an altered virulent form of a common virus and now my life expectancy has been dramatically shortened.  I feel fine but I know that I'm near the end.  I have anger within me but it is not all consuming.  

I have written a letter to him in the hope that he will read it to his children.  

Dear Anti-People,

Pollution is a solution to wash away the blood and tears.

Deportation is a form of mass transportation.

Unemployment is like a long vacation with no picture postcards to prove that you haven't been anywhere at all.  

It is affirmative that inaction leads to oppression.  

I refuse to salute you but I won't shoot you.  We'll let fate deal with you.  

Maybe you'll choke on your tongue the next time you explain how your administration of order will eliminate chaos.  

Maybe you'll slip and fall into political disgrace.  The earth could open up and swallow you whole but I'm certain that it would expel your foul soul like toxic vomit.  

I'm not angry but I will vote for the other guy.

Sincerely,

A 2nd Class Citizen

I'm too ill to be angry.  Life is too short.  

There's no place like hopelessness.  There's no place like six feet under.  

I love the sound of thunder on a sunny day.  

I want to place my feet into the soft clay.  

I'll never be at peace until someone says that he's dead and gone and out of the way.

Upon completion of reading, she goes over and stands next to DIEGO and MAX.

PROJECTION VIDEO:  

VIDEO CASSETTE #3, play (commentary by TOMAS and ELIAS-approximately 3 minutes).

MAX swings banner about frenetically, chasing away DIEGO and MARIA ELENA.  All performers exit.

AUDIO CASSETTE #2:  

Play (techno music-approximately 4 minutes).

The body inside the body bag begins to stir and move about as it wiggles and rolls on the floor.  The bag is unzipped from inside and JUAN emerges.  He performs his special dance until the end of music.  JUAN goes to microphone and remains silent.

BODY BAG

PROJECTION VIDEO:  

VIDEO CASSETTE #4, play (tic-tac-toe commentary by JUAN-approximately 4 minutes).

KARLA walks up to microphone and pushes JUAN aside.  She reads entire contents of

NOTEBOOK "E"

I hate words because they are so unreliable.  It depends on how they are said and who is saying them.  

Sometimes the person who hears the words misunderstands and responds with other words that don't make any sense at all.  

The written word is the worse because you've got to be able to read and that takes too much effort.  

Words have no value.  

They are noises that disturb me.  

I've had protracted conversations with people who couldn't get a word in without attaching some significance to their impact.  

Words die in midair.  Once they are uttered, words are detached from the body and they fall to the ground unheard and ignored.  

Words are lifeless forms that are scrawled on walls, books, arms, screens, and the sky.  They are etched in the minds of those who do not accept their own intuition as guides.  

There are numerous words which are exceptionally devoid of purpose.  Some words can cause riots while other words can put vast populations to slaughter.  

I never listen to any of it because I puncture words with sharp criticism that is expressed with a glance or by the position of my head.  I prefer body language because my words are too complex to be presented verbally.  I cannot write down on paper what I feel or what I think because that would be an admission of vulnerability.  

Instead, I use various methods of blocking my vision, like placing thick slabs of flesh over my eyes, or by painting beautiful objects with jet black inks, or even by wrapping people in comfortable stereotypes.  

Words are obsolete in a society where words can be used as a means to incarcerate you.  

Words are terrible weapons that can leave victims helpless and speechless.  

The shock of being at a loss for words is offensive at times and causes everyone to be shamed by the awkwardness of the moment.  Sometimes bombs are used to punctuate words of pride.  If I'll have a word with you it will be in the alley where no one can give us the interpretation that we need.  

My phone has been ringing off the hook since it was invented.  I've got nothing to say to anyone who would care to call me.  We've got nothing in common if we need to communicate electronically.  

I need to see you, touch you, taste your, smell you, but I don't need to hear you in order to understand that it's all a mistake.  It is a mistake that we should have ever been in contact with one another.  You words leave me cold.  

I can't believe what you've told me, not because I can't comprehend, but because the words are ugly and repugnant.  They sound so sterile and authoritative.  

I can't believe what I just heard because it really isn't human. You are trying to tell me something that has been said repeatedly by others who have talked themselves to death.  You say something about race but it does not show on your face.  You mention something about gender and it's all about surrender.  You don't understand that you say more about yourself by what you omit.  So shut the fuck up because I can't take another word.  

It isn't that I'm taking away your right to free speech because it has never existed.  

Once you say what they want to hear you'll be unable to comment on your inalienable rights because your throat will be slashed from ear to ear.  And what good will your ears be then?  You won't hear me telling you to sign a loyalty oath.  You won't hear me complaining about words that have more X's than they're worth.  Try to keep your opinions to yourself and you'll probably feel that your right to free speech has remained intact because no one will tap you on the shoulder to see if you are still alive.  

I want you to know that these words can be used against you in a court of endless flaws.  

I hate words because they fill my mouth with a bitter aftertaste of regret.  

Whenever possible, I say in public what I can't possibly say in private.  It's always best to talk about the most obvious in subtle ways, that way people will think you are more intelligent than you might seem to be.  

Weigh your words against the reality of charred piece of metal.  

Words can always hurt you, especially if you understand that there might have been a kinder way to say horrible things to one another.  

I can't say another word.

JUAN exits.  Upon completion of reading KARLA drapes the body bag on her shoulder and drags it slowly as though it were a regal cape.  She exits.

PROJECTION VIDEO:  

VIDEO CASSETTE #5, play (slow motion images of RUBEN, DIANE, DIEGO, and RICARDO as they struggle to move across a brick wall).

SLIDE PROJECTOR D:  Slides #1-40

(LINDA and JOE support freeway overpass on their backs, followed by MAX extending and contracting metal bar attached to concrete).

CHUY walks up to microphone and reads entire contents of

NOTEBOOK "F"

I was walking down the street when I was confronted by the realization that I had lost my shadow somewhere in the crowd.  It had slipped away and had attached itself to several other people, pigeons, cars, buildings, and freeway overpasses.  As it jumped from one source of light blockage to another it risked complete dissipation.  It was a deviant shadow because it attached itself to objects that were suggestive and arousing.  I had not realized that I had been followed by such a pervert for my entire life.  I wanted nothing to do with it and ran as fast as I could to get away from it because I did not want to be influenced by evil thoughts.  I felt that my shadow was possessed. 

Maybe someone had bewitched it with an unpronounceable incantation.  I had always been somewhat suspicious of it but I was under the impression that I was the one who controlled it's actions. 

As I ran, I became aware of other dark shapes that were stalking me.  They were orphaned and renegade shadows that were in need of connecting themselves to a physical form.  I ran head on into several walls but was unable to scale even the slightest structure.  I was rushing into the abyss of uni-dimensional thought.  I could see no alternative but to collide into the impenetrable barriers.  When my back was turned several shadows grafted themselves onto me as they fought among themselves for limited space.  I felt heavy as though the weight of countless phantoms were now dependent on me for their survival.  They were depleting me of my energy and I became so weak that I was unable to take another step.  I collapsed and fell onto the sizzling asphalt and remained unmoved, uninspired, untrue to myself for several hours until late into the night when all of the shadows became very still and dormant.  

I opened my eyes and determined that my only chance was to escape into the darkness of the earth's shadow.  I wandered across several city blocks unable to see a thing because blackness settled deep into my eyes.  Someone had stolen my corneas while I slept.  Maybe they had mistaken me for the dead.  

I was very much alive and wanted to see. 

I reached out and was suddenly taken by the hand down a winding path.  I followed blindly because the hand was soft and warm.  I could smell a faint hint of delicate perfume and my heart beat wildly because I believed that I would be saved by love.  I tried to speak but I was silenced by a gentle kiss. I squeezed the hand but it melted into nothingness and I was all alone in my own perpetual darkness.  I began to feel heavy again.  I was stagnant and sank slowly beneath the concrete.  I dug at the earth with my bare hands for what seemed to be an eternity.  I moved slowly but eventually I was able to reach the surface as the sunlight illuminated my life.  

I had been buried alive by the shadows. 

They were jealous and intent on punishing me for refusing their advances but they had failed.  

I remain here in physical space as a testament of survival.  No darkness will ever blot out my existence.  

My shadow is a slave to fascists.  I walk in a world of afterimages in flux.  I bask in the horrific glory of nuclear light.  I can see beyond invisibility and it is a sight to behold.  

The flash is extremely bright as it burns me and my shadow into an indistinct pile of glowing ash.

Upon completion of reading he covers his face with a black scarf and walks about blindly and in a spiral.  He exits.

AUDIO CASSETTE #3:  

Play (70s-inspired techno music-approximately 3 minutes).

JUAN and PAULINA enter dancing.  They are both holding the straps of metal/leather dog leashes that are attached to the necks of both players.  They dance passionately until GRONK enters and puts a stop to them by taping JUAN and PAULINA together with masking taping until he has formed a unified cocoon.

GRONK:

There's no passion in commitment to confinement. 

I've been hearing rumors that Apartheid is caused by things that are tied apart or that they are partly bound to loyalty to unspeakable oaths of outrage or something like that.  

I've also observed that some people are worthy opponents while others are fit to be tied with a hangman's knot. 

I've been following the non-careers of many anonymous people and I've forgotten how dismal and unimportant they can seem to be without even trying. 

Now that rhymes with tying and dying.  

They pollute my vision of a perfect universe that can only exist in my head.  I attempt to erase the ugliness by shutting the eyes of those who look like they don't belong here.  

Ever look into a mirror and catch your own reflection mocking you?  Well, humanity is like a plague of inept zombies.  Not fully awake, not totally alive, rotting somewhat, yet still breathing and always getting in the way of progress.

Now this is turning out quite beautifully if I do say so myself.  I don't expect them both to emerge as butterflies because the worms that they are filled with don't fly.  

There is a poem related to beauty but I forget what it is because poems are boring and fraudulent.  It goes to a beating in the alley or a shooting in the streets or a sliver of glass in the eye.  

There is no such thing as metamorphosis.  No one ever changes.  And personality is like a terminal tattoo.  

These two were born to waste my time.  

Now I recall the poem but it makes me angry because I'm compelled to recite it perfectly and with all the appropriateness worthy of this grave situation.

DISSOLVE UNIT WITH SLIDE PROJECTORS E & F: Slides #1-60

(GRONK attempts to pull himself across pedestrian bridge).

GRONK:

Rubber bullets flying
Into the backs and necks of
Those who'd rather be
Vegetating
Not contemplating
The essence of oppression
Pepper spray directly to the eyes
Makes my favorite TV show
Fuzzy
I kick the TV set
And it screams in pain
The rubber bullets
Tore a hole in my umbrella
Now what am I supposed to do
When it comes raining down hard
When a flood of pain
Drowns everyone around me
Until I'm sinking
Instead of thinking
About doing much
About anything.

PROJECTION VIDEO:  

VIDEO CASSETTE #6, play (LINDA, ELIZABETH, GARY, DIEGO, RICARDO, TOMAS, JOE, ELIAS, and HUMBERTO shout in protest and disgust followed by silence).

ELIZABETH walks up to the microphone and reads entire contents of

NOTE BOOK "G"

Separation anxiety is a perplexing phenomenon: 

Cut away the unnecessary customs, remove all rules and regulations, eliminate inhibitions, exterminate bureaucracies, erase history, ignore fashion, refuse to follow, avoid mental death traps, oppose violence by superior violence, speak in code, walk in counter-step to the conventional flow of traffic, delete disinformation, defuse bombs, neutralize hatred, destabilize the status quo, paint on walls, refute common knowledge, sabotage relationships, look innocent, and play dead.  

Separation anxiety makes you feel like you're tearing apart from the inside out, I get that feeling when I drive on the fast lanes of all the freeways.  I become very fond of those who are driving alongside me but then they change lanes and suddenly they are out of my life.  We never get the opportunity to become fully acquainted.  I'm sure that we could be the best of friends or even lovers but they exit at the nearest off-ramp.  I become anxious and step on the accelerator until I'm moving faster than all of my contemporaries.  Let them get the feeling that I'm the one who is leaving everyone else behind.  

It is so easy set yourself in motion towards auto-destruction.  But that is so permanent and doesn't allow for the difficult task of separating the survivors from the wreckage. 

I prefer to be torn limb by limb, like having petals plucked from a flower while someone asks stupid questions:

Are you a citizen?
Have you paid your taxes?
Are you positive?
What time isn't it?
Where you from, ese?
Is it loaded?
Are you pseudo-sexual?
Is it hard?
Is it wet?
Is it dead?

There's no value in providing true answers to false questions.  

I want to separate myself with a thin line that is barely visible so that no one will notice how I've evolved onto a higher plane of consciousness.  

Oh, look.  It must be an addiction.  They're so inseparable.

Upon completion of reading she walks over to JUAN and PAULINA.  GRONK looks on disapprovingly as she sets the couple free.

PAULINA:

Sexist, racist, fascist, maniac.
Limbo, rumba, big bone, nameless.
Instinct, internal bleeding, English.
Angst, prank, swallow quicksand.

GRONK leads JUAN off stage by pulling on his leash.

AUDIO CASSETTE #4:

play (accordion music-approximately 2 minutes).

PAULINA dances a mock flamenco.  CHUY, KARLA, an d LINDA enter laughing.  They point at PAULINA's feet as they all pounce on the floor menacingly as they attempt to stomp her feet.  ANTHONY enters and takes hold of PAULINA'S hands.  They both spin in violent circles as they hang on tightly.  All performers run off stage as though scared to death when music comes to sudden halt.

PROJECTION VIDEO:

VIDEO CASSETTE #7, play (commentary by RICARDO).

MARIA ELENA walks up to microphone and reads entire contents of

NOTEBOOK "H"

I stepped on a cockroach on my way to limbo.  

It was doomed because it had achieved nothing in its lifetime.  

It did not move when I approached it and had no desire to go on living. 

It had realized that it was an intelligent and complex creature but I was acutely aware of the fact that it was ugly and deserved to die. 

As I stepped on it, it caused me to trip and fall.  I missed my appointment with limbo and was not allowed to enter that strange world on a broken ankle.  I limped along a long and twisted trail back to normalcy but it was unfamiliar territory.  I found myself actually enjoying my minimum wage job.  I greeted people on the street with a genuine smile.  I appreciated visual beauty of everyday life.  I was self-fulfilled in a zero existence.  I became the person who I had always known would ruin my life. 

I've forgotten all of my dreams since yesterday. 

I promise never to sleep with a pistol in my hand.  My lungs are filled with the sweet fluids of amnesia:

I can't recall your name.
I won't remember what you promised me.
My memory floats in a dirty glass of water.


I've seen roaches drinking from that cup.  They believe it is the fountain of redemption.  I can't even forgive them for staining the bottom of my shoe.  

I pray that they will infect my self-esteem.

JUAN enters weighed down by a tremendous number of inflated balloons that are attached to his back.  He struggles to make his way across the stage and falls to his hands and knees.  MAX walks up to microphone and read entire contents of

NOTEBOOK "I"

The following is a true story:

There is a man who has declared war on 70,000 babies.  He intends to harm them by denying them any sort of preventative health care, he will sabotage all attempts at allowing them to become educated, he will ensure that they will either die or be imprisoned. 

But he is still saluted on the streets and hailed by those who applaud his efforts at genocide.  If looks could kill he'd have committed suicide the first time he ever looked into a mirror.  

I believe the story is true but it may be just a terrible dream.  I've been awake for so long and I've worked so hard that the written word and spoken word seem to have lost their effectiveness.  

I believe that the word "action" should be outlawed unless it is accompanied by a radical act of faithfulness to humanity.

Here's another true story:

I saw two murder victims in a parked car.  The murderer was nearby watching me as I observed the scene in horror.  I decided not to become involved but went home to get my camera.  When I returned, the car was gone along with the corpses.  I took photographs of the spot where the car had been parked and had the images developed and printed.  

To my surprise, the faces of the dead appear as grayish smudged afterimages that continue to persist as permanent black and white mirages that destroy all of the colors in the rainbow.

As he reads, LINDA enters tossing confetti into the air. She walks up to the microphone and reads entire contents of

NOTEBOOK "J"

I don't believe in true stories because objectivity is a curse.  I don't believe in premonitions or dreams.  There is no such thing as the future and the past. The primary problem is the present.

I once knew this couple who were very happy with one another until they both made the mistake of asking questions.  The answers they gave one another were very brutal and accurate.  It ended in double suicide. They left a note:

To whom it may concern,

Appearances
Beliefs
Caustic
Defiance
Elegance
Fragile
Guilt
Halo
Instant
Jinx
Knife
Lasting
Menace
No
Other
Power
Quiet
Remnant
Solution
Trigger
Unclean
Vacant
Will
X-plain
Yield
Zealot

The note was written in crayon.  The handwriting was like that of a very young child. There was a phoniness to its intentional honesty.  

The note was more of a threat to the social order than a lasting cry for help.

DIEGO enters and appears to be delivering multiple stab wounds to JUAN but each strike of the knife breaks every single balloon.  As each reader completes reading their respective texts, they cover their mouths with their hands as though they've uttered a "filthy" word.  When all are silent, JUAN walks up to microphone and reads the entire contents of a scribbled note on a sheet of paper which that he produces from his pocket.

JUAN:

Excuse my apology. I have no intention of seeking forgiveness.

SLIDE PROJECTOR D:

Slides #41-60 (ANTHONY moves effortlessly across metal bars).

DIEGO:

So one day, I'm walking down the street when I see this man who looks vaguely familiar.  I kicked him in the ass to see if he's real.  He vanishes but he takes my shoes with him.  I continue to walk on broken glass and hot asphalt.  It gets pretty thick and eventually my shoes are back with a vengeance.

MAX enters carrying several newspapers.  He reads fragments of various articles and tosses pages to the floor leaving a trail of shredded paper behind him.  He stops and notices the other performers.

MAX:

Every last word of it is a lie.  Liars.  All of you lie. Liar.  Liar.

With the exception of JUAN, all performers leave the stage in shame.

PROJECTION VIDEO: VIDEO CASSETTE #8, play (TECPATL and CHUY deliver crushing blows followed by JUAN, KARLA, GRONK & HUMBERTO in kissing scene).

JUAN covers his face with a plastic bag.  GRONK rushes on stage and tears the bag off his head.  JOE rushes on stage and holds JUAN's arms behind his back.

GRONK:

Injustice is an active verb that is always done to someone weaker than the perpetrator.  For instance, dog bites man, man beats dog with rubber hose.
I'd like to hear you bark until your lungs explode.  No.  That's not music when there isn't any air in it.

JUAN is breathing heavily and wheezing exaggeratedly.  GRONK listens to his chest.

GRONK:

It reminds me of a song I learned in solitary confinement.

(Hums to the tune of Row, Row, Row Your Boat).

Choke, choke, choke, yourself
Gently in your dreams,
Narrowly, carelessly, fearlessly,
Life is but a joke.

(Hums to the tune of Row, Row, Row Your Boat).

What a pathetic dysfunctional representative of the human race.  He's got nothing to offer.  Sell his organs while he's still warm.

DANIEL is wearing a large red arrow as MAX, MARIA ELENA, DIEGO, LINDA, KARLA, ELIZABETH, CHUY, ANTHONY, and PAULINA all follow him on stage.  They surround JUAN and JOE as they whisper and giggle amongst themselves.  JOE releases JUAN. JOE walks up to the microphone and reads entire contents of

NOTEBOOK "K"

Just admit that you are talking in your sleep.  I won't wake you up because I know that you'll incriminate yourself by default.  The more words that spill the easier it is to slip.  

Your language is so expressive but it doesn't impress me because I know that you are lying.  You close your eyes and pretend to sleep in an attempt to confuse your enemies and your friends. 

Is it a game? 

Do you really enjoy abusing those who would do you harm?  

I feel like pinching your arm to see how sleepy you can get.  

How about if I kick you several times about the head until your snooze turns to ooze.  You never snore or become sexually aroused in your sleep. 

It seems that fear and greed are your primary sources of motivation. 

How can you sleep? Your rapid eye movements are the slowest I've ever seen.  

You have a tendency to remain perfectly still under the blankets. You have not moved an inch but I know that you'll never go to sleep again.  You are condemned to constant alertness.  You have overdosed on caffeine and it is sweetened with a personal terror that no one else will ever taste.  

Open your eyes and look around you.  You'll see what keeps us all awake despite our need for rest and comfort.  Your sleep is masked by hysterical blindness. It's a very sheer veneer.  Not much of a façade if your have to grab hold of it any time you see something that reminds you of yourself. 

There is no time to pretend to sleep. 

With the exception of GRONK, upon completion of reading, all of the performers become riotous and then steal individual objects away from JUAN and then run off stage.  JUAN performs his solo dance.

GRONK:

Imagine yourself free of desire and fear.  There are no laws and no repercussions for any of your actions.  Politics, economies, wars, the need for self-discovery and personal fulfillment are all a thing of the past.  Close your eyes for a second and realize that there is only an endless void that cannot be doubted.

(He snaps his fingers).

Now snap out of it because this is reality and there isn't a second to lose.

GRONK leads JUAN off stage.

ANTHONY walks on stage and reads entire contents of

NOTEBOOK "L

I have found what I have been looking for. 

It is a word to describe my every emotion, my thoughts, my observations, and everything which places everything else in disorder.  

I have found this word but I've chosen to bury it so that I will not have to share that part of myself that will eventually disintegrate and die like an unknown fragrance.  

It is not a secret but a void.  There is nothing to say because each word causes an echo that decays and crumbles before it can develop its musical properties. 

I hear a word as it fades from importance.  

There is nothing that they can say to me that will change my mind because they can go to hell.  I'm interested in those people who have nothing to say because I'm certain that we'll agree on everything by having opinions about nothing. 

I can't talk that walk, but I can walk that talk.

Upon completion of reading, ANTHONY performs hypnotic dance and walks off stage in stylized manner.

PROJECTION VIDEO:  

VIDEO CASSETTE #9, play (JUAN is dragging himself on the asphalt street as PAULINA, DIEGO, KARLA, GARY, and DANIEL condemn him with insults).

SLIDE PROJECTOR C:  Slides #56-80

"Urban Refuse"

AUDIO CASSETTE #5:  

play (mix of accordion, cello, and synthesized music-approximately 4 minutes).

JUAN walks on stage slowly as he drags the body bag and places it on the floor at center stage. He crawls inside of the bag, lies down, and zips it shut. GRONK, MAX, PAULINA, CHUY, MARIA ELENA, DIEGO, LINDA, KARLA, ELIZABETH, ANTHONY, JOE, and DANIEL all dance and laugh in defiance of death.

BLACKOUT.

Performance premiere:
November 14, 1997
8:00 p.m.
New Performing Arts Center
California State University, Northridge

sponsored by:
College of Humanities
College of Arts, Media, and Communication
Student Resource Center/EOP
Educational Opportunity Program
Union Program Council
Chicana/Chicano Studies Department

Special thanks:
Jorge Garcia, Ph.D., Dean
College of Humanities

CSUN Producers:
Florentino Manzano
Fabiola Torres

Performance photos:
Jaime Rovero
Gary Fresquez

Frame Of Relevance
All Rights Reserved
©1997
Harry Gamboa Jr.