In the center, a group of eight people stand in a circle holding each other’s arms/wrists outstretched in a naturally lit rehearsal/dance studio. They are all barefoot and wearing loose white underwear briefs, in addition to varying white tops (tanks, tees, hoodie). There is a large white fabric hanging loosely from the ceiling onto the floor behind and to the left of the performers.

box. box. box. box.
inside the box, establish the points
& hit them.
stay within the designated lines.

7. 6. 4. 3. 6. 2. 2. 6.
i turn around
nothing matters anymore
i’m alone.

we clockwork point to point
through established imaginary
architecture constructed in whispered
instructions – in cold spaces

a woman’s body being cold & wet
a woman’s being being wet & cold though
the cold woman’s unnatural – ethereal – metallic

she takes such little solid space
she takes the form of her container
in mercury, you must consider
economic temperature

a canny trust defying shape shifter
by necessity
an all too common vessel
see mystique; see also, beyoncé.

« women are machines for suffering »

pablo. you break my heart without emotion.

you fragment women in poison paint
dryly view faces leaking as accepted function
gaze without seeing survival mechanism

how your maschinenfrau bears arms & armour
against the thousand thousand more unnatural shocks
forms barricade against the leering tender loin

pablo. how dead metal buries voices
pablo. how dead metal partitions women
into glass & metal boxes, soundproof

here we cannot hear each other’s oceans of cries
only sick track stuck repeating lip sync
programmed speech « take all of me
i just wanna be the girl you like »

we clockwork point to point to point
box. box. box. box.

13 . 9 . 7 . 4 . 7 . 6 . 5 . & back to 1 .
i turn around
nothing matters
i’m alone.


now see how we transition to transcendence
watch this witchery :
together we enact a precious contact crisis
summon waves of we are changers
everything we touch can change
fluss – fluss – fluss –
we are falling in slow motion, melting, molten
we fall painless down the windowpane
drops support each other’s widowed weight
& merge, submerge, discover porousness
through touch, through trust, we permeate
our strong hands & our gentle feet
we place our hands & feet in the waters of time
shared & see how we affect the flow
none leads, none follows, we flow
downward & forward, obliquely urethral
in spiral motion we go
silken steel unspooled & pooled in magic show
towards authentic transcendent crescendo
far from dry box metronomic colonnade
which witch would you wish to wash you
in intimate contact in intimate waters of women
in wide open waters, in protected close waters
in our still waters running deep unboundaried now
for keeps, for closeness’ sake //
see how bold we are to simply be
together, vulnerably
to overflow containers, to flood the space
with our kind waters, to decommission
clockwork of hurt mechanical bodies
& rise & fall, re-animate /
our matter in place, occupying space
changing place & space & time, continuing
we are changers / everything we touch can change /
our strong hands & our gentle feet
flesh & blood & ice & sweat & tears & piss
& sea / see all of me /
i just wanna be /
i just wanna be ///


Author: Sarah McKee

Photo: Emeka Ene


“FLUSS” references the author’s collaboration as part of Earthbound Squatters. COVEN BERLIN previously reviewed their October 2017 performance at Uferstudios in Berlin.


Sarah McKee is a poet & performer, based in Berlin since 2012. She works & plays between magic and logic. Her next public dance adventure will be as the goddess Circe in a new stream-of-consciousness opera: http://ehemaliges-stummfilmkino-delphi.de/en/the-wandering/

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