From the beginning, the main character, Sylax, confirms his “otherworldly foreignness” with restless stream-of-consciousness, detached matter-of-fact humor and hesitantly quirky musings—all told by an analog taped recording relaying its words seemingly from a hollowed out, baby-mobile-bedecked television that's accompanied by a haunting cello being played in a barely lit corner of the stage. The artist has yet to be seen, her silvery, handmade cloth spacesuit protected from unruly first impressio...
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