Word: limps
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...getta no, no, no, no," that faded into "You can't always get what you want" back to "we're gonna get ourselves, some satisfaction," the audience lost on the Stones/Satisfaction myth. "Honky Tonk Women," dedicated to "the loose women in the audience," and closing the set, a limp "Street-Fighting Man." Bam. They split with their hulking guards, leaving the audience too hopped on its own totemic rituals, its own cruelties, to ever come down...
...sadistic and rebellious reveries; in return, we pay him lots of money and promise not to remember what he does. As long as he gives us a few concrete gestures, the rest doesn't matter; we'll extrapolate from there. His sulking, his mincing, the fluttering eves, the limp wrist are but touch-stones to the structure of our own imaginations. I don't know what happened in New York or the Boston Garden anymore and no one else does either. Perhaps this not knowing is the residue of all great theatre experiences, those that, like Mick Jagger, "invite...
...beard nor ever would have, his face was as smooth as if lately shaven; I trow he were a mare or a gelding." This is the eunuch-like caricature of" femininity that most people associate with homosexuality. In the 1960s he may be the catty hairdresser or the lisping, limp-wristed interior decorator. His lesbian counterpart is the "butch," the girl who is aggressively masculine to the point of trying to look like a man. Blatants also include "leather boys," who advertise their sadomasochism by wearing leather jackets and chains, and certain transvestites, or "Tvs." (Other transvestites are not homosexuals...
Consider Barnett Frummer. He is a radical for love's sake who finds himself stuck to the hot asphalt pavement after going limp while protesting housing discrimination. He is the hapless yearner for un-chic Rosalie Mondle, who might one day paint "Get Out of Vietnam" across his chest. He is the groping incipient gourmet (trying to out-cook his friends) who dreams that he is accused of eating Fritos. He is the poor chap who cannot get invited to those with-it parties Rosalie attends, "where whites gathered to be castigated by some prominent Negro." Says Barnett...
...valid in the name of "life" and "humanity" and what is not: "One wants a theatre of bare ago. Not a theatre of id, which is what we're seeing today. For example, if one wants to see a prick on stage, one wants to see an creation. A limp phallus means nothing, and it's unattractive. And because of that, I Am Curious, Yellow and Oh Calcutta! are Antarctic and anti-sexual. But on the other hand, what is on the stage must be one step away from reality, and that one step is what separates art from life...