The Night Of The Destitute
The Night Song
Ir is night: now do all leaping fountains speak louder.
And my soul too is a leaping fountain.
It is night: now do all songs of lovers awaken.
And my soul too is the song of a lover.
Something unquenched, unquenchable, is in me, that wants to speak out.
A craving for love is in me, that itself speaks the language of love.
Light am I: ah, that I were night! But this is my solitude, that I am girded round with light.
Ah, that I were dark and obscure! How I would suck at the breasts of light!
Light, Darkness, and the Moral Duality of Desire What is good, and what is bad? What is virtue, and what is vice? Who decided these definitions? Who decided that light is pure and darkness is corrupt? Why do we hide our desires in the shadows and only display what we are taught to call "virtue" in the light? This performance is an exploration of the constructed dualities of morality. It is not about religion, yet it begins with a religious experience—a memory from childhood that left an imprint on me. The Night of the Destitute I remember attending The Night of the Destitute as a child. A ritual drenched in the weight of suffering, a performance of humility. The setting was stark: dim candlelight, bodies huddled in devotion, a collective submission to guilt. I remember how morality was staged—who was deemed virtuous and who was deemed lost. The experience left an imprint, not because of its doctrine, but because of the theatricality of its moral architecture. Sexuality and Morality Years later, I found myself in a vastly different space—yet eerily similar. A party in Paris. The crowd was draped in black, bodies moving in sync with the bass, a rhythm of liberation. The lights flickered over lace, leather, and sweat. There was no shame, no hierarchy of virtue. There was only presence, sensation. I closed my eyes, and I saw a painting. The same experience in a different medium. The ritual of virtue in the past. The ritual of desire in the present. Why is sexuality something to be hidden? Why is darkness the container of all things deemed wicked? What if darkness is not a void, but a space of unfiltered truth? The Performance This is not a statement. It is a question unfolding in real time. It is the exploration of our internal landscapes, the places we deny ourselves. It is an attempt to strip away the imposed moral binaries and expose what is left underneath.
