Transcript, Sharon Hayes’s I March . . . ,
Evening Performance, December 2, 2007, New York, NY
My dear lover, I’m taking to the streets to talk to you because there doesn’t
seem to be any other way to get through. So that you have a picture of
where I am, I’m standing on the street on the corner of Rivington and
Orchard. I’m speaking into a megaphone. It’s Sunday Dec. 2. Yesterday
was World aids Day. I need to speak to you my love, of your love . . . your
life, my life, your love, I need to speak to you of our past, I need to speak to
you of our future, of sweet things that have turned to bitterness, and of bit-
ter things that still could be turned to joy. You refuse to answer my letters,
my messages, my phone calls but I know that the ears are the only orifice
that can’t be closed and so I will speak to you from every street corner if
I must. Things here are spiraling so far down I fear that people just can’t
face it anymore. Everyone seems dreadfully cheery which I know means
the violence is at its worst where you are. People are packing up their
pain, and their anger, and they’re moving on, which I know you would
find shocking. You would be surprised at how different it is now from
when you were here nine months ago. No one seems to be able to talk
about the war. It’s like we can’t find the words, or we’re tired of saying the
same thing over and over and over again. There’s no movement here, and
yet so much happens. In May I started making a list of things I wanted
to talk to you about: Cheney’s pompous warning to Iran, the Blackwater
scandal, the bombings at the Gazil Market, and all of this hurried talk of
Baghdad returning to normal. And then more time passed and I started
adding things about us: that time in Nov. when I told you I didn’t want to
love you; and that day in Jan. when I said “the pain is just too great, I was
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