Posted May 28, 2024 - by Gerd
The talent show
It's back again. Finally. Clear the stage for the lust for self-dramatization and gay party glamour! For the talent show on the last evening in the fine hippie resort EcoTara on Gran Canaria there are just two rehearsal hours. Time is running, slipping through the fingers like fine sand. What we need now is people with artistic will and assertiveness. So-called decision-makers.
Hey sexy yoga teacher, come here. In the bathroom, please. Now hold still. Braid left, braid right, trousers down, kilt up.
Aren't there thick woollen socks in the trolley for the cool evenings in the Canary Islands? Still invisible to the eyes of the other participants, she is already standing in front of me, ready for the big island performance: Britney Spears. Hello. It's Britney, Bitch!
Together we open the evening. The new, mature Britney seems nervous now, she is tripping from one leg to the other, tugging at her yellow pigtails. Does she want to dance? Oh yeah, the poor thing doesn't even get to decide for herself when she has to go to the toilet. Hold still, baby, one more time.
My gaze lingers on the bedspread of the king-size bed. Unmistakably a specimen frequently found in southern Europe - with a guaranteed biomass of less than one percent. The dove-blue improvised costume will give me a wonderfully extra-terrestrial aura; I think smugly and drape the stubborn one around my shoulders. Indeed: the rigid wave viscose virtually flees the body; into space, into the universe! I stalk towards Britney like a battlestar. The singer bashfully asks about our choreo. Huh? I ignore her interjection, sublime and enigmatic; as if Rei Kawabuko of Comme de Garcons herself had outfitted me. Wait a minute. Am I not rather a revenant from Oscar Schlemmer's triadic ballet? There's a fat blue exercise ball in the living area, I'm going to grab it and then...Britney energetically nudges me with her big tits. In the hall, 'Peaches' is already trumpeting the first bars of her queer lessons into the EcoTarian village. It's showtime!
All the excess, all the tenderness and all the brave courage of the participants will be reviewed again on this evening in fast forward (-everyone has a maximum of 10 minutes-). The contributions orchestrate the versatility of what was experienced: the garish trash appetiser is replaced by delicately whispered mantras of yogic philosophy. Noisy laughter yoga fills the room, Old English flow of words conjure up the spirit of theatre heroes who have long since faded. Music. And photos! Of course photos, lots of them. Because beautiful moments want to be captured. Moments, monuments and body shapes. As long as they are solid. A theatre improvisation pushes the boundaries. Or is it just me? We, the other participants are supposed to set the theme. How about some sex and crime? Sure, that always works. Like Aladdin from the magic lamp, intrusiveness floats with the actor to the comfortably grouped community. And bang, a leather belt is slapped on the thigh of one of the participants. In the corner of the actor's eye I see a sardonic glare while he is still ranting about his mother-in-law. That naughty belt, doesn't it belong teasingly around an innocent white neck? For seconds my feelings about it are on a knife edge. Is there a spark of real violence? Luckily, after this intense week, I know: first take a deep breath. Hold it. Hold. Breathe out. It works. The tension is released. Applause, applause! Dancing; we are dancing! We are in good company. The stars agree from outside. Twinkling. Equanimous.
by Gerd Fechner
