theater grows in the lawn outside you house, approaching the sun. and all objects revolve around your senses. all texts excrete from your body, reflecting your other self. feeling perpetually estranged. you have to take some somnifecient to forget it.

but inside your house lies poetry and myth. poetry and myth which you would not easily forget. poetry and myth which keep reproducing themselves. then you bring them to the theater just outside your house. a house built of flour. a house from where everything began. therefrom you denounced all of your personal -hidden realities, as your own defacation. a place for you to bring back all the new definition of the ever saturating life.

This essay was inspired by a series of interruptions. While I was working on my PhD, looking at contemporary theatre in post-New Order Indonesia, my research was constantly – and fantastically – disrupted by large rallies or demonstrations taking place around Jakarta. Luckily, the more I watched demos, the more interesting they became. And in many cases, the demos were more interesting than the theatre performances I was ‘meant’ to be watching.