Speech from the performance piece, The Liminal Zone, first performed at the Southgate house in Newport Kentucky, New Year’s Eve 1999, with Holly Price and Mike Dimaria

Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to a visual discussion of the Liminal Zone. The Liminal Zone may not be of interest. Welcome to a discussion of the great blur, an insinuating look at that in-between fog of the beginning of tales. An examination of the intermediacy of moments, the lag and vicissitudes of time. The Liminal Zone will not be stopped by medical improvements, psychotic analysis, perverted sexual innuendos or traffic cops. The Liminal Zone is an un-American, stupefying extrapolation of tangents even the most clever of the pseudo-intellectuals haven’t thought of in their wildest hallucinogenic fits. We will say nothing. We will follow the laws of Buddha, of Line and Shape, a little Nietzsche, of Richard Foreman and the Theatres of Illusion. Your impression of the Liminal Zone will retain its title and position as supreme justifier of all ‘happenings’ herein contained, inside, the Liminal Zone. The animal tied up in symbolic thickity-sparkly gosh darn above the stage means something, but this meaning is lost momentarily in the frequently incommunicable unknown of the Liminal Zone. The animal that has been swallowed by the rendered imitation of the unknown organic other and so dances as an initiator has deep symbolic significance, but we aren’t going to even allude to it. We might not even tell you the name of the piece, the Liminal Zone, we may not even refer to the New Millennium, which had such influence on the nature of our representation. We might not sing, we may even dance, we will certainly find the misty place where round, whole numbers grow in crystalline formations from the green trees of media and faith, enveloping the world in their soft, fruity demarcation of time. We will have our limens, our Latin limes, and keep out the invading Germanic hordes of advertisements, witty portrayals and ‘disguisings’ of stereotypes through the polite racisms of demographics and fat free Awareness. We will not be placed in the third floor parlor of the Southgate House where nobody is…Hello? Hello? Hello? We will remember ourselves dearly for we are sure to not be remembered by you. Are we moving things around? Are we making the proper impression? Are we really ready for the round, whole, numbers? Are we decided unto indecisions innumerable incapable of further movement due to the all encompassing sleep inducers of Beauty, of Style, of Grace, and of Pressure? We will confuse you. We will make you wonder why we are doing this. We will all be dead in eighty years. We will not be ordering Chinese take out with impunity and furthering the understanding of movement within time, verb, and center. We have tried our talents, in trying to liminalize you. We hope you are expecting something you do not know.

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