Music by John Zorn, “Masque of the Red Death”
Twilight provides a safe haven for Eros, who, like a flower of the night, blooms freely in its countless forms. Sunken marshes with acid-colored skies play host to muck-risen apparitions whose eye-sockets illuminated by the moon, beam at us knowingly. Whether inviting us to participate in tender lovemaking or some mischievous antic, they tempt us with our desires.
In the non-Newtonian universe of disparate viscosities and fluid love, distinctions between body and place are readily emulsified. Branches and foliage, moist and glistening, transform into flesh and genitalia. A stump with a large vulva sprouts finger-like limbs melting under the lunar glow. Trees embrace two hillocks and a creek flows gently from the opening of an anus. A fleshy ear emerges from a cliff, and Queen Anne’s lace grows from the delicate folds of a flaccid penis.
A parade of flaming fungi, trans-pigs, neon bats, black flowers, tulip men, blood-red owls, he-goats, pink spiders, electric moths, bug-eyed birds and psychedelic drag-mud spirits make up this multifarious brood of the night. Probing, caressing and surrendering to each other’s bodies with thixotropic urgency, they transition into liquid and plasmic forms, assuming a supernatural state.
Landscape, the object of our desire, stirs up inside of us what lies below the surface, as well as the imagination of what is possible. In the vivid gloom of this erogenous terrain, Earth’s creatures commingle towards blissful contentment...and the moon smiles down upon them approvingly.
Patrick Jacobs, September, 2021