During ACT I, an exposition of the vampire invites a destabilization of gender constructs. Thinking with queer narratives and the allure of abject bodily fluids the nexus of this project is one that melts and morphs space and time, undoing signifiers. It feels the current of the breath in between, where bodies are haunted and fleshed to conjure other representational freedoms. Uncanny forms are deployed to embody social anxieties and investigate various efforts to reclaim the monstrous. The process is a re-mystification of time, which sees objects in space abandoning their central singularity, hoping to illicit generative and affective exchanges. We are introduced to the different facets of vampiristic characters and contemplate their vulnerabilities, hungers and intimacies. Sleeping creatures inhabit this dwelling, opening suctioning leakings between our world and the next. We might lie here, reclaiming our tender monster. We might caress the fragile skin of our desires. Beyond earthly beings, life and death, we are lured in by the fantasy of the other. Hush—a shiver flits over our bodies in the face of this eeriebeautiful thing. Out of fear of being caught as prey we divert our traces in ornaments, at the same time hoping to be devoured for pleasure. Sucking, biting and other mouthly doings embrace the feeding on each other, forming symbiotic relationality whilst also reflecting aspects of mutual dependency. Our lust for each others abject body liquids forms a transgression, a desire that is not dictated by the rules of sexual conduct. The in side of the mouth itself is this fantastic space that—as Bataille writes—is ‘the orifice of profound impulses’ and in which the most monstrous, dreamlike and affective ideas find their expression and form. We utter fiery words, leaping sparks burning into our skin. In this tale of queer intimacy, where will love lead us?

— COLETTE PATTERSON and VALERIA SLIZEVIC

I want to eat your neck
give you translove skin to skin
                Beneath a tainted sky
                Moon tremble and I
Maybe fascism will shatter at the drop of my boxers
Maybe testogel will turn my blood into silver

And from it
I’ll make you a jewel.

— TONY COLOMBE. K