The fight of the grotesque monster consumer, endlessly Trying to be the "Face of the Times".Appropriation extraordinaire, the disguise of the modern amusement facade. The face book, in an endlessly repeating mirror hung on the skin to watch wilt as it's passed over by another trend. The three sisters embodied the rushing, frantic, always changing culture eaters of the ever modern consumer lifestyle. Trying to find sex or to use sex, to find food or to use food. They needed and they wanted, but I am not sure exactly what they wanted. Maybe they wanted it all. The elusive all. The ever more, ever better. They embodied the always- more always-better with their movements and their gestures and their bafoon like yells. The loop of having and wanting and having and wanting. The sisters' bodies as billboards. Rushing through their dance movements, all quick, no linger, no internal perusal of meaning. All rushing. Maximum impact. Eat. Sex. Disguise. Makeup monsters - constantly digesting and shitting the red blue icon fuck nature of consumer reality. are we all so alone as these three sisters? are we are all such fighting machines trying ever so hard to graduate, to be the winner. are we all trying so hard, to be seen. to be seen by the "audience"? the "lights"? the "god"? i don't know if the performance went any deeper than a repeating image of a societal fist fighting attemp at being the best at being someone else. They showed us over and over, in fleshy detail, the "attempt". Sex monster media creature, dynamic embodiment of extravagant self exploitation. Fighting each other but barely aware of each others presence, except when necessary to kick or molest, or occasionally lean on - almost exhausted. I loved seeing it. they loved showing it; the face, the crotch, the butt, the hair, the gesture. Distorted clown-like approximations of self-possibilities, each moment, they are running from one cartoon to another. Maximum romantic extravagence, for the purpose of.... to illustrate the overwhelming nature of self distorted surface life. The fake, yelling at us to tell us she is a fake. Telling us the livestyle is so romantic it must be real. To be the self that will be the right self at the right time, for the right buyer. The self to sell the self. This is perfect for this time in our culture. Most people do not spend a single moment of the day in self satisfied contentment, with nothing. Living in the backseat of a makeup van selling plastic-face to ourselves in the rearview mirror. Working hard at the job, so we can buy tickets to see what we are. I saw for a moment in the middle of the journey the faces behind the makeup-face. They were tired, run down from this battle, a moment of deeper beauty, but just like most - that cannot last, it cannot hold up in the fast lane. So like most they came back strong and sexy and in tight black power-costumes. It was like an endless loop of trying-on faces, trying to please the god-like consumer with the most money and power so as to allow more consumption. A self feeding appropriation monster. cosmetic gesture fight blessinglessly sex furnace death lullaby thank you beautiful performers. peace, luke