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...What once was for him "real," is now but a "dream," --for the day comes when we find ourselves stranded with memories.
He is mute flesh that the stroking of fingers can bring to sing.
When the body's "primal" urges feel deprived in a "modern" age, a debate about "sex" and "love" ensues to resolve the question — perhaps even find some solution that will suffice!
There is a garden in the dark hunger of his psyche where forbidden fruit grows.
Secret number... secret shape... knower of the secret name... God of the realm of night - I summon you, 'Son of Sin'... arise!
A ripe lad embarks on a raw correspondence with his mirrored image, and thus: the dialogue is "fleshed out" to its full potential.
Playwright and performance artist Marc Arthur paves a color-saturated path from 'awake consciousness' to sleeping 'dreamscape'.
Nymphs and Satyrs are conjured back into activity when poetry is recited and fluffy clouds sail above the contemporary, domestic landscape.
Masked men prowling in the bushes and not touching anything but satin, dandelions and flesh.
An angry trollop and a self-doubting college kid collide in his cramped apartment for an episode of claustrophobia and self-analysis.