Mosquitojuice_Cha Yeonså 2022.1.19
Mosquitojuice is the curtain call and
after-party of the live performance Juicy Mosquito,
which was staged without an audience on 2020.11.21 (19:00–19:30) in accordance
with COVID-19 prevention guidelines. The director places the remastered video
on an altar, and the performers, in place of the bodies once exposed on stage
and camera, bring their own loosely assigned objects—substitutes for the
body—into six zones, linking them to their respective partners, movements,
gazes, attitudes, and declarations.
If Juicy Mosquito was an opera
as an alliance of wet mosquitoes that transformed the scissoring position,
then Mosquitojuice, formed through an inverted
pun, is a stinging name that could easily cling to chemical agents used to
repel mosquitoes or to relieve extreme itching. Even so, when invoked in
midwinter, it shakes, stirs, and lifts the mosquitoes that have already exited,
turning them into a cocktail and deciding to raise the proof. Do you know that
diluted lemon is an effective remedy for nausea? This is the urine expelled as
a scream in Korean by a Jewish woman and a German woman meeting inside a
church.
They say shame is the lowest-frequency state of mind. At disaster
sites, people with weak stomachs require an excellent emetic. Someone who
reveals a temperament of “I like anyone who’s dangerous” becomes fascinated by
discomfort. They then strike the cheek of disgust without mercy, vibrate it,
and achieve erection atop a waterproof pad. From a urethra swollen again and
again by repeated stimulation of guilt, ejaculate emerges, and this, again, is
licked by trauma that presses forward with half-closed eyes.
Trauma creates a
closed neural network, and if it chooses a method of salvaging, borrowing, and
arranging something within it—like a threat letter made by cutting up a
newspaper until the handwriting becomes unrecognizable, like a ghost’s voice
said to have mixed fragments of speech broadcast on the radio, like someone
glaring, pleading, erupting from within noise. At a crossroads that endlessly
splits in two, they converse in modulated voices like this:
“When we feel that we are alive and standing right at the center
of creation, love can become something wondrous.” “All the
mosquitoes in the world must feel the same.” “That’s really good
news for the mosquitoes.”
Slap the mosquito to kill it — Cha Yeonså, 2020.11.21
To kill a mosquito, slap your cheek.
The mosquito’s cheek and my palm strike each other for a moment.
In fact, the mosquito’s palm slaps my cheek.
The moment the mosquito inserts its six lips into me,
for a moment,
we become lesbian lovers.
Only those who are the same as me can penetrate me.
Your biased eyes are peaceful,
and I am proud of your swollen eyes.
