Artwork by Sina Shamsavari
WE WANT TO BE DISTURBED

We want to be disturbed,
we want to be outraged,
startled, stunned and shaken.
We want to stare in shock.

Turn up the Carmina Burana,
welcome the MC, the crazy host!
Applaude the dazzling visuals,
the innovative light effects
and the crippled go-go dancers!

Past the doors where big pec’ed bouncers
carry their sleek talkies hanging
from the rings in their pierced nipples,
we sit gently, civilized,
waiting for the show to start.

Old top-less wives with battered breasts
serve champagne by the tables
Pre-op transexuals,
on the stage,
fully nude, their faces covered
by grotesque black leather masks,
do convoluted dances,
rubbing each other's boobs.

A playful  midget now sucks
his own orthopedic cock.

Exotic dancers on stilts
take off their clothes and their limbs
on the laps of older patrons.
Ten pounds for the red g-string!
Twenty five pounds for a leg!

Conscientious place
disabled friendly,
with easy access to the back-room,
where happy punters,
push their wheelchairs
through a parade of swollen cocks
and inviting juicy clits.

Shall we join the daring punters
who outperform the performers?
Like that woman, clad in rubber,
who drags, pulling his firm cock,
a nude young man to the loo?
Or those who present their scrota
to test strange tools made of steel?
Or that who, to achieve orgasm,
endures female circumcision?

Painted x-rays,
x-rays of paintings
are projected on the walls.
Slide shows of
fractured bones
bleeding arseholes
rotten flowers
deformed bladders
and lugubrious carcinomas.

A witch is taking the stage,
Female prestidigitator
reclaims a man from the audience.
She makes us and him believe
that she can dissociate
his male organ from his body.
But we all know that she's cheating
The penis is shown on video
and the body is on the stage.
The flying broomsticks are taken
from a German silent film.
But where is his real penis?
Nobody can see it now.
The lights are off; the drums are playing.
The flying dick is replaced
by compulsively repeated
sequences, wordly and divine.
Now we can see:
dying vampires,
angry youngsters,
vomiting nuns,
slimming virgins,
starving infants
and bare backing.

And those beautiful angels...?
Rewind them! Play them backwards!
Make them all fall and become
petty demons, shrieking souls!

Accomplished mystery play,
circus of horrors, grand gignol!
Or rather... turn of the century urban art?
Transgressive, avant-gard?

We want to hear the yells,
the scandalized reaction
of fundamentalists.

We want to be disturbed,
we want to be repulsed,
disgusted, nauseated,
we want to stare in shock!


 

Ernesto Sarezale, 2000-2004
www.sarezale.com
sarezale(at)yahoo.com