I am at this moment just taking a break from dancing around the kitchen, putting the soundtrack together for our next big party, Delicate Delinquents – the first big event since Sexual Emergency last year and the first proper summer extravaganza since 20I3’s Music For Chameleons, a rainforest weirdity of atmospherica that was moist and tropical and very chameleony (D even did a chameleon dance after he had been body painted by the crowd). This next party is going to be tighter; more furiously exciting and rebellious. I’ve got the films sorted, I think (we have two big projectors: beginning with Cassevetes’ Shadows (fifties delinquent hipsters) and Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point (seventies radicals), I am thinking about moving onto Almodovar’s Pepi, Luci, Bom for a bit of Madrid eighties underground and some fine splashes of Spanish colour, possibly contrasted with Coffy, Pam Grier’s Blaxploitation classic that will look good spread on the walls as the congregation gets down and grooves.
The art performances are in the pipeline; my clothes are ready (I think): some Japanese white and blue jinbe pyjamas, and possibly thief makeup (see above). The only thing left to decide, and this is important, is PERFUME.
What do you think?
Me (on the right) and the D heading out incognito into the night. Neither of us can take too much of the humdrum reality: there comes a time when you just have to E S C A P E.