Medium stage

We are our dead we are made out of the things we lose, of those who are not with us any more even though they remain in us, a desire that goes on in the time beyond our senses, we are unwitting witnesses of the eternal traces of the death, domestic archaeologists, collectors of wrecks with which we can reconstruct a slight sign that we are still something We are our dead J. J. Morata We would like to acknowledge the support of the Bogota City Council.

(Español) Dímelo con los ojos, calla, no hables, no te calles, con los ojos. Sin palabras que lo estropeen todo. Con los ojos. Espalda recta, piernas paralelas, culo para fuera. Me voy a la pared, castigo el muro como tu me castigas a mi con el zapato. No estas y se que te voy a echar de menos, espalda recta, piernas paralelas, culo para fuera.

“Intimacy, game, abetment: how could I tell you that I love to be with you…”