Drained 
2023 
Performance, 3 minutes 

Have you ever stayed laying in the bath after you pull the plug?

 

As the water line tugs you down, gravity rudely forces himself upon your exposed, naked body. Water sweeps away by the inch. First from the knees. Then the shins, thighs, and shoulders. Each set of ribs. The organs, once floating carelessly in a soup of bodily delights, suddenly press into the taut skin of the back. Dazed and confused, in a state of internal whiplash. 

 

The weight of the world, temporarily severed by a thin liquidous film, begins to bleed back through through the vessels. You are no match for gravity's penetrating hands. The shadows of the mind, momentarily illuminated, suspended somewhere in the blend of steam and incense smoke, press down upon you. As the fog in the room clears, the fog in the mind thickens.

 

Then the stomach. One of the last to feel the depleting water's wrath. The liquid within its velvety membrane becomes all at once self-conscious, as its playdate goes home for tea. In a last ditch attempt at a game of imitation, it gurgles. Sloshes around. Confused as to what to do with itself in her unusually heavy absence. Each limb becomes the glacial peak of a melancholic mountain.

 

The ceramic surface of the tub presses uncomfortably into the wet protrusions of the spinal cord. Knees splayed.  Elbows and hands strapped in for their final descent. How could I possibly pull myself up from this?