PULSE
Emerging from the darkness, these bodies, so still. The pulse that drives the pelvis, the same pulse that fills those cramped dark spaces with countless bodies swaying together to the rhythms of the hours, the night made up of sweaty, endless hours.
Limbs, undirected, a sideward glance —
The pulse that throbs, joined by primal palpitations to rid the singular, the individual, the
detailed being of all its details. The same pulse that seeps from the centre to the edges of
the darkened room, gradually un-turning the cogs of this social machine.
Springing from video impressions of ›Momentum‹ by CocoonDance Company
Viereinhalb Sätze 