Ghost Writer and the Broken Hand Break

Three performers spin endlessly on their own axis in a choreographic concert

Ghost Writer – Raimundas Malasauskas

“What is your true matter of practice?” ghost writer Raimundas Malasauskas asked Miet Warlop once. “Electric jellyfish”, she said. “In transition. From tension to attention, from breathing to singing, from focus to staring, from staring to starring. Vibrating with the smallest detail in galaxy. And there is no frame to add, only gravity. In obeying its pull I will stick one of my hands to the heaven and the other one to the ground. My voice chords will tremble, but I will stay calm. My right ear will tune to the left, and my left one – to the right. Boundlessness will kick in. Without ever stopping the movement I will start singing songs we wrote about matters of life, death and shapeshifting. I will not be teaching wet plaster how to dry this time. Two or maybe more bodies will be spinning around their axis next to me, but keep in mind – it is not me who is in the center, neither you nor anyone else whose biography you wanted to use. Their speed will be different. They will be in all kinds of futures and pasts, making sounds with their instruments and tongues, all aligned with their feet. No culmination will clap on a horizon – the horizon is in circle too. When a time will come to stop, we will look at our own palms and break the spell of never-ending transition. The truth is always somewhere there.”

“What an odour of suggestions to follow,” the ghost writer thought. The songs turned out to be about illusion, perceptual gags, invisible break ups, self-optimisation, present and now that it all started, nowciousness. Nothing remained true to the cyclical order of things.

Press

“Every once in a while you can experience a performance reminiscent of a uniqueness often missed by so many others. Ghost Writer and the Broken Hand Break by Miet Warlop is one such anomaly. In experiencing this performance, something in your being is created and triggered, something that makes your heart beat just a bit faster – because you are not just a viewer, but also an active participant in its birth.”
Evelyne Coussens – De Theaterkrant.nl – 26 October 2018

“Its simple act of balance and velocity rendered extraordinary through repetition and duration, made all the more impressive with music and percussion that made me feel as if my blood was vibrating.”
Gareth LLyr Evans – The Guardian – 21 October 2019

De Theaterkrant.nl – 26 October 2018
The Guardian – 21 October 2019

Lyrics

Suspended resolution
Like an eyelash in my cocktail
I was born in the shadow of my future self
Like an eyelash in my cocktail
Suspended in a flight of escape
Like an eyelash in my cocktail
Whose pedal is in my head
Like an eyelash in my cocktail
Round the sweat
Like an eyelash in my cocktail
Round the handrail
Like an eyelash in my cocktail
Falling high
Like an eyelash in my cocktail
Swinging in desire
Like an eyelash in my cocktail
Falling through
Like an eyelash in my cocktail
I feel unwired
Like an eyelash in my cocktail
In the middle of night
The middle of the middle
Like an eyelash in my cocktail
In the middle of night
The middle of the middle
Like an eyelash in my cocktail

Like a house without a door
Or a pimp without a whore
Like a bird without wings
Or a voice that never sings
Like a junk without drugs
Or a soldier without guns
Like a child without a mother
Or a sister without brother
 
I’m a wall without door
I’m a winner without score
I’m running in slow motion
I’m an oily oily lotion
Playing football without feet
Like a hand without a finger
 
Melting ice cube in the heat
Or a gun without a trigger
Absolute
Relativisation
Relative relative
Absolution
 
The ending of eternity
Border in infinity
A mirror without reflection
A talk without connection
A soap without an actor
A sun cream without factor
A desert without oasis
An army without basis

Well,
Take your moment
Where are you now
Everybody is watching
We are all around
This could be a remedy
We can’t see an approaching enemy
Our body is an arrow
Pointing at the inside

I am a message in a bottle
Oil and numbers, all in water
Latex spirals, slips and slaps
Spilling lies and silent claps
 
And in the middle of the word
I slip and fall
Besides the world
 
So what’s that word, what’s that word?
To which I fall
Besides the world
 
I am a message in a bottle
Spilling ripples in your pocket
Floating freely in a spiral
I belong like a song to vinyl
 
To the moment of transition, zero chance and hard decision
But in the middle of the word
I slip and fall
Besides the world (besides the point)
 
So what’s that word, what’s that word?
To which I fall
Besides the world
 
And when your cigarette is out I feel so lighter
Like without
Like without
Limits are your revelations in infinity of spaces

Break the hand break
Roll the wheels
Use them as a jacket
And hit the wall
 
Roll on
I do look forward
I love the past
Now sucks when you pull a death end
And there’s no ball to roll on

I can see
The fear in your tail
I’m looking at your happy eyes
 
You waggle to see me
Even if you think
You hate me
You hate me
 
If we ever give your tail back
I would see you lying
I would know
You love me
You love me
 
We would know better
Know better the bottom lines
Of our thoughts
And
Stroke it down
Stroke it down

LIMITED EDITION VINYL WITH MUSIC OF GHOST WRITER AND THE BROKEN HAND BREAK FOR SALE ON BANDCAMP