Every other day has just been one of those days. It is not easy to feel hurt or angry if you cannot remember. In Eyeballz and Honey, Julie Akerly remembers. She remembers what it feels like to be looked at, to be touched, to say no, to submit. She tries to give herself the option to take up space, to be heard, and to RAGE. She uses her body to remember what it feels like, she uses her voice to scream, and she uses imagery as a reminder that she is not alone.
Eggshells and Honey
December 22 @ 7 & 8:30pm
Mesa Arts Center, Acting Studio
Get Yo Tix Here!
by Ada Mcartney
I am reduced to a shaking
carcass of catharsis watching Julie
move. Eroticized vulnerability,
finger painting with honey.
I felt a waterfall of shame since—
I felt the panic of hurt un-changed since—
Felt aching hard against this
whole disembodied mess.
Tangled web of neon fuzzing on screen. That scream.
Every dream that tightens the screws pinning my jaw.
At once. How to get used to performing
calculated triage on phantom limbs.
Just GET UP. Get the FUCK UP.
Ignore the break. Beat drum—
Bait. Isolate. Manipulate. Learn to
submit before it even hits— Shit.
Chained to a pile of bricks.
Couldn’t see. Drip, drip.
Focus shift until it
Like how we titter at a double entendre.
Like being anxious of touch. Craving nothing but—
Hug / Handshake / Fist Bump / Failure / Grace.
How to begin to create, again, from this place
when every other one is one of THOSE days.
How to come through after becoming afraid
of this unbalanced vessel dancing in foamy waves.
Like how we have come to be
stretched across disjointed hemispheres
all the complexities of healing sear.
Feel every layer that you add or peel away.
For every “no” that means “no” at least three mean “yes”.
Undress in a dream where it feels good to touch and be touched—
Then, I wake up.
Written on 9/25/17 after attending a work-in-progress showing of Eyeballz and Honey