1. A voice

Road Trip to Hell tells a story about the after story, where the world wastes away, implodes, although the excess of desire seeks to reverse its course. A lone driver is delirious behind the wheel, searching for a way out, fantasizing the infernal ghetto of the world, an out of this world possibility of a world that turns out to be the world itself, its mask being its skeleton, a world of impossibility of a world, where time has stopped and solely the momentum of a delusional movement compels further and further down the one whose madness is the only thing to match its course.

Hell is about obsession. Actually, what takes place on the road to Hell is the gradual surfacing, through organ cavities, through skin pores, of a new unknown body, an unknown creature. Obsession. Not an external force, coming from beyond. An internal one, an obscure double, programmed to emerge on the surface, to materialize under certain conditions. Hell is the realization of these conditions. Hell is a definite hypothesis of existence.

Hell is flexion of the body. Modality of a life form.

Flexion. I flex myself into you, you surge within me. I feel a heart push out a heart, an artery rip up an artery, a lung press against a lung, here, inside the throat, veins and sinews mingle, the airflow stops, the tinnitus turns into a scream inside the pulpy bodies of cells, of the pineal gland, a head nests inside the head, growing fast, cracks it open, crackles, comes out the new head, smeared in brains, blood and mucus, a parasitic organ, a freak, a cephalovermin, a doppelganger, an evil stand-in, a terrorist, busting the head from inside out.


Fragment from the play Road Trip to Hell (2011 / 2017)