Smearing I’m smearing Smear…

I hid below your bulky skull I wrapped around your silly bones I sweat milk and show my teeth There’s no hiding place For you of me I live inside - I’m your dancing dreamon! Let’s find a way out of me Let’s break the bone-wall From within and through My eyeholes I still can hear the cracking voice Of my skull Life will tear us apart And I see you dancing in the forest /words by Áron Porteleki/

Do you remember your first injury? You, meeting pain for the first time? Have you acquainted yourself well enough? Does pain know its place? Have you domesticated it, one way or another? Give no control to pain. /words by Patrik Kelemen/

Pay the Pain Pay… Over the fence of your self defense Your upper body turned cold As a no-body Circles triangulate on your forehead Look at your pain Look at your leg Back pain, blue pain, black pain Ibuprophen Burning body for nothing Just ask to be paid Pay the pain, pay Pay the pain, pay Ibuprophen Pay the pain.. /words by Áron Porteleki & Patrik Kelemen/

Our body is everything, Our body is our mother, Our body is our enemy, Our body is our lover, Our body is, Pulsating networks weave through our bodies. We are a set of circulatory systems, neural pathways, muscle fibres: blood, lymph, electricity, hormones, white blood cells and antibodies, sweat, cum, saliva. Our attention engulfs both our bodies and our environment in a similar fashion. The senses pick up the wide range of mechanical and chemical stimuli. A subtle, invisible network envelops us wherever we go: this attention is immaterial yet palpable. We sense ourselves, we observe each other, we monitor our environment. There is constant noise in the body – noise and metal music. He hates waiting, yet he had to wait till sundown. There is a spot near his house where the soil should be still fresh. It’s easier to handle. As he raises his shovel, A drip of sweat trickles down His graying beard Next to the leftover stains from the onion soup he had for dinner. His throat is dry, hands grimy. He is going to take them home. Take them home and cut them. Cut them and draw them. How he likes to cut them and draw them. They are beautiful, truly beautiful. Honest, reeking and silent. How far did we stray from the Vitruvian Man? When good old Leonardo drew his infamous nocturnal sketches of anatomy and physiology, what sort of curiosity guided his hands? What did he find? When the cadaver opens up, does it reveal the same grimace as that of a living, functioning body? In his latest work, Patrik Kelemen regards dance as a phenomenon. The piece imagines an idiosyncratic, whimsical, and a somewhat perilous entity that secretly comes in touch with dancers and audiences alike. Egyptian mummification and Mesopotamian occult healing rites. A self-indulgent, willful and whimsically dangerous substance emerges, whilst striking a clandestine pact between all biopolitical parties. Thank you for listening. I enter your body now. Can you host me? Thank you. I don’t have hands, I don’t have hands. Do you have hands? I don’t have hands. Can I have hands? Can I have your hands? Can you host me? Thank you! Can I have your hands? Can you give me your hands? I don’t have hands and I need hands. Thank you! I have hands. Okay, I have hands! Okay, I feel at home Thank you! Aaaaah, so that’s how it feels. I don’t have ears. Thank you! I have ears. Aaaaah, so this is what it’s like to hear. So that’s what I sound like. So that’s what I sound like. It’s me now. I think i’ll stay for a while. /words by Patrik Kelemen/

There's no grace There’s no space It’s just one big fucking cramp Daring to be loud Daring to shit yourself, to puke And that’s okay This is the failure of convenience Do you remember Your first injury? You, meeting pain For the first time? Have you acquainted yourself Well enough? Does pain know its place? Have you domesticated it, One way or another? Up there in the palace Give no control to pain The proprioceptive gaze opens But you can’t quite make it out What its lookin’ at The architecture of attention Is well in the works Under-underway Gazes interlocked The bridge is built /words by Patrik Kelemen/

Look at your pain..

Nobody, one can only follow…