a fiesta of charms

...seven flamingos... one
...the taste of salty rain sunk into clothes like perfume, and rose
aside the reckoning that the small trinkets of Isabel’s: rose
coloured ornaments of elephants, bronze feet with blotches of
skin pink, blood red necklaces, and more were all illustrating a
latent and then forthright desire to express the myriad of ways
she had accepted life’s idiosyncrasies...the malady of the
absurd, the nature of what it could possibly mean to be a
woman often on the edge of sanity...
...her performance piece, articulations of a mosaic form, was
based around a performance by Guatemalan Artist Regina José
Galando, called Who can erase the traces? Of which Isabel
commented acted as a revelation...the ordeal, commented,
Hilaire seemed to be Isabel’s distinct pursuit of a sexual void...
...throughout the nights before Isabel’s performance she often
satiated a need for immersion into character by, simply,
becoming a different person with, sometimes, opposing
traits...hyper-sexual one evening, void and sullen
another...there seemed no real reflection on reality in ways that
were difficult to function around...donuts thrown on the floor
hysterically, nights orchestrated around a fiesta of tormenting
happenings...that often culminated in her crying on the
kitchen, though the sound of her laughter sprung from a depth
so deep it seemed transforming, obliterating in its capacity to
alter moods...
...the sense of mystique, even around people others deemed
absurd, seemed to seep out of her skin into the atmosphere,
into the ether surely nestled against the flowers, the dead
poets, the trees...
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