ARTual Reality: A Nightly Stroll Through the Subconscious
Saturday, July 21, 2018
EPIC YOGA DC
In Transit (performance art)
Replay (vocal performance)
Cerebrum Cerebellum (spoken word)
Art of Influence (performance art with dance and pastel art)
Color Association/Stream of Consciousness (performance art with spoken word and audience participation)
(Un)Rest (performance art with paint)
Sleepwalk (audience activity)
Sleep Paralysis (performance art)
Insomnia (live painting)
NIGHTMARE - Performance art piece
Alter Ego (performance art piece)
Sculpture (body painting)
Celina Ces - performance artist, logistics, content creator
Jamie Garcia - performance artist, event planner
Jazrhyn-mae Garcia - performance artist
Mykl Gormley - portrait artist
Shanna Lim - visual and performance artist, body painter
NotNxrmal (Nirmal Mankani) - DJ
Liah Perez - vocalist featuring Sam Salous
Jeff Prioleau - video production
MISA Floral (Michelle Samson) - floral artist, sculptor
Scott Seeborg - pastel artist
Emmy Torre - painter featuring music by NXCHXLVS TXRRE, ghost in the machine
Dream Defined Events
CEREBRUM CEREBELLUM Spoken Word
Written and performed by Jamie Garcia
Detach my fingertips from 26 characters
Disconnect from the comfortable familiar.
Detract from the trending.
Shift from virtual to visceral.
Do not disturb is now on.
A shapeshifting phantom, between my temples…
Is a temple of precious contemplations.
Delicate due to their transient nature.
Treasures short lived in the form of memories
Morphing from recollection, to reflection, rationalization, interpretation….
And left as mutating perceptions
Modifying themselves based on the situation.
Adapting for the argument at hand.
Time capsules of lost toys, first kisses, lighthearted promises, professional recognition, romantic affirmations, risks gone right, heartaches gone for too long…
Facts. now. corrupted. files.
Then you have those antique morals, that never die.
Family emblems sealing heirloomed stigma.
Concealed by shuffled checklists you never find when you need them.
Mental notes crumpled and thrown against hidden corners of my mind
Piles of trashed ideas never actually discarded
due to the rare case you might need them.
But by the time they’re found- the writing is fuzzy, you can’t interpret their original intention.
All these scrapped ideas and scraps of ramblings are haphazardly hodge podged to construct…
It’s funny how there’s that saying…
Of being alone in your own thoughts.
Because in that moment…
alone is the last word I’d use to describe that state of being.
I am crowded in my own thoughts, overwhelmed, suffocating,
Mobbed by all the voices
Crammed into a corner by the mass of guilt
Harrassed by the unwanted idiom, “what if?”
Exasperated with the persistent prodding of failure.
Irritated by the unignorable shoves of shoulds.
What kind of isolation is that?!
Doubt, a lingering imaginary friend
Along with Doubt is its Eve... Envy.
They crawl into my eyes, over my tongue, into my ear canals.
Like a subconscious syrup seeping into my every biological pathway.
They assimilate themselves into my DNA.
Infecting my white cells of faith.
Their heavy hands grip my muscles and contort this frail frame of mine into positions of self loathing,
disappointment and resting postures of regret.
Sensitive self-assuring thoughts wilt in this toxic environment.
Confidence... is a fleeting friend
That sometimes annoying friend… other times flaky friend.
Who’s not afraid to tell it like it is…and also, stretch out the certainties.
Why doesn’t she leave me post-its of affirmation or just because cards?
Why can’t she be my best friend who creates my life scrapbook or highlight reel?
She doesn’t HAVE to be ever-present…
But she could at least hold my hair when I word vomit.
If only I was left alone with her.