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Script

· The male sings, his face full of expressionistic angst as his mouth opens wide.
· The female simply stares ahead at him.
· The sound of his voice is like an opera tenor singing a single high note, yet it contorts into alien, cyborg noise - yet all the while retaining a screaming human quality.
· As he sings a mutated biosonic-penile erupts forth from his mouth and pulsates.
· It continues to grow and throb ungainly, eventually spreading itself onto the face of the female in profile on the adjoining screen.
· Spent and finished, his protuberance retracts and thins out, receding inside his throat.
· Throughout, the female remains passive and non-affected.

· The female now sings, her face full of sensual ardour as her mouth opens wide.
· The male simply stares ahead at her.
· The sound of her voice is like an opera soprano singing a single high note, yet it contorts into alien, cyborg noise - yet all the while retaining a screaming human quality.
· As she sings a mutated biosonic-vagina erupts forth from her mouth in a series of lip-like folds that flutter and quiver.
· The folds continue to grow and move erratically, eventually spreading itself onto the face of the male in profile on the adjoining screen.
· Spent and finished, her protuberance retracts and thins out, receding inside her throat.
· Throughout, the male remains passive and non-affected.

Catalogue
From the Gertrude Contemporary Art Space exhibtion

In West Side Story the Puerto Rican chicks dance off against their men in the film's fieriest number, "America". They spit at their men. The guys sling machismo back. The girls flap their Rican skirts in waves of thigh heat. The spiv studs respond with a series of erectile poses. It's like a dance-off between mermaids and matadors.

Aurora Snow directs herself in her series Assploitations. Buffed calendar studs with square jaws ram her trinity of orifices. She cajoles them, egging them on to penetrate her more. Aurora runs this show. These guys grimace as they desperately try to get to the other side. She can swallow them all in one gulp with her extraterrestrial deep throat technique. Her spit is more substantial than their cum shots. Her voice withers their forced grunts.

Tom Hanks stands on one side of a wombic expanse of west coast water in Sleepless in Seattle. Meg Ryan psychically waits on the opposite coast facing him across America. As forcefully distilled as Safeway brand mineral water, their dumb closed mouths and glassy vacant eyes face the nothingness that forecasts their relationship. Its idealised status is the essence of cinematic factiousness. The insipid ballad that skates across the waterways and airwaves entrances these figures ghosted by love.

In Vox, a man opens his mouth. Stuff comes out. A woman opens her mouth. Stuff comes out.

That's the way it is in the dimensional warp between the dick flick and the chick flick. Between the flaccid stylistics of Ocean's Thirteen and the neurotic warmth of Amelie. Between the rehearsed gender politics of Shirin Neshat and the uncontrolled gender detonations of Big Brother. Between you and your other. And your Other. Between your daughter holding a toy princess and your son holding a toy dinosaur. Between their legs.

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