In The Night Factory

The nosy inquisitor moves to the end of a long room. The smoky darkness hides two angular shapes. The conversation has gone past the cumbersome intros and returns and is now moving on to a more direct level. Just at the right time, at the most profitable moment, when it is most expressive and in sync with their simple narrative, they move into position A, moving about carefully to expose their limb connections, set at precise degree angles on the cushioned props. The body’s journey through the dream of presentation, the need for satisfaction and press button accuracy, they move from step to step in synchronisation and without mishap, each landing at the correct place and assuming the corresponding angular pattern of the other. Moving and changing position with self conscious attention to detail. An uncontrolled glance occasionally escaping the theatrical faces, grimaced into expressive contortions, those accidental moments like sparks flying from the scraping metal. Soft rubbery skin makes the curve of attention; a hard cardboard scapula is focused on when crushing against a cushioned hip joint extension. A set movement is enacted with repetitive ease in the spotlight glare. The music drowns out their theatrical miming. I click the cursor over the corner cross and it disappears into the night.

# posted by Neil @ 6:44 pm