Soulful Delights

2012

 

After Action Report by Mr. Thursday

 

So this was one of Astarte Agrofemme and my first collaborations after Sacred John; that’s what I call what happened in that bathroom, I’m not sure what everyone else calls it. I’m sure some call it disgusting, at least I hope so. Anyway I was reading Crébillon fils ‘The Sofa’ at the time and became obsessed with Amanzéï’s tale, the sheer absurdity of it, the Shah’s bafoonish humor and all the different types of sexual pursuit recounted in mind-bendingly detailed metaphor. So I wanted to do something about that in public for the PROject proJECT event, maybe reading directly from the text, but also offering some sort of service beyond sheer storytelling. Hiding neo-libertinism in plain sight, that sort of thing. Originally it was just going to be me in some kind of fake couch, as Amanzéï, reading from my trusty Libertine Reader and trying to get handsome folks to sit on my face. But Agrofemme elbowed her way in and the idea got a lot better from there. We decided she should be in the sofa as our texty Pygmalion object-ideal, looking up at your thighs as I hit your ears with achingly opaque 18th century eroticism. I ordered a large, transparent blow up couch, the kind it would be real easy to hose cum off of. Folks were to sit there with a scantily clad Agrofemme in a box underneath. We did all sorts of measurements and shit but realized the construction part was beyond us and hired our friend R (cross-dressing, hot tubbing, hard drinking R, a fucking genius of mirth and debauchery, also a handy maker of things) to help us. This piece would not exist without R. We fuckedaround in R’s wood shop, drilled nails, sweated and finally shit out a beautiful, wheeled coffin/couch, the child of R’s mbursacilne. Agrofemme and I just inseminated it, he gave birth. Next it was weaned in Agrofemme’s boudoir; she taught it nasty lessons, ensconced it in lights, brimmed it over with cheap plastic flowers and padded it to her queenly liking. Using R’s trailer we got it to the street, about 100+ yards of paved road behind the local art museum, where other folks were projecting, stilt walking, and playing neon gentleman’s croquette. Using velcro I attached my Libertine Reader to either arm of the couch, depending on the direction and read as I pushed folks up and down the street. For an added libertine punch, Agrofemme and I powdered our faces and I wore an 18th century wig (I really need to own one of these). It was fucking heavy, making it tough to read with appropriate aplomb and sensitivity, but I enjoyed the struggle and it seemed somehow appropriate; the antique language of aristocratic subversiveness coughed and wheezed through the physical feat; it made a glaring sort of inappropriate sense for the temporary audience, who weren’t sure what they were encountering but willingly participated in what appeared to be a carnivalesque ride. No one understood any of it. Given the weight of people on the wheels we had a few breakdowns, which R lovingly helped us out of. The thing I remember most is how kids fucking loved this thing.