completely emptying vocal spew for the cathartic wind-down. athletic totem and purge weapon.
solo (dada wu) or duo (apa + dada wu), every reaching part of the mouth-cord coughing/exorcising wordless barrage. bellow alien-gospel shriek poison for his/her exchange, crazily finding the ritual after displacing the speech. when sung-hit and high-hitting the partnership implodes in primal first sound cave-cry.
spooky when yr not ready.
impossible to find the same note, the sheer power/fearless gasping momentarily and surprisingly a la-la-la melodious bird-feather in song. pairs of trouble fight against the flow, then lock into duelling tension/let-up, working out the something that builds inside and has to get out, the roaming no-meaning perplexed and taking up too much space. it falls out disposably inanimate but when you see that question mark on the floor, you can look at it. like letters making words we understand, some of the time the pronunciations should get out of sync, to rip it all into oblivion. create a new alphabet. gutteral deep-down way-inside breath-push opening up like scales on the horn running out of the high/low registering.
i think we sometimes mistake fun for too-serious as a shit brain default for not wanting to go into. but this is a blast. blasted shout-blues frozen on the one, in the pure now, inside the mirror, using our anxiety against us in no-tools-needed front-and-center being: with their lungs and their throats and their living question marks.