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Nutrition & Drama

Nutrition and Drama
Date: April 26 – July 20, 2019
Isabella Bortolozzi, Berlin


You find yourself in a time of mystical fountains, hands covered with feces and spills spoken by
Voices in the dark. It seems. This place is product of schizophrenic coexistence between reality and fiction, inventions of a fearful mind that try to escape from the idea that radioactive particles contaminate drinking water and the potential of getting an infection on a public toilet seat. What seems like a kidnapping into absurdity is product of a reality, a reality that shows that laughing and crying comes from the same factory.

D 1 & 2:


I am a Dilldapp
One of its kind
Part of an ancient species

Our story goes back thousands of years
times have passed
Centuries have passed
Now is today
Today is now
We came to life through this person
as an inner hermit
Visiting his mind
to become his invention
created by fear and anxiety
Created by joy and resistants
He keeps our species alive

We heard of stone, soil and plants
Processed by a volcano
Lava tastes us
Soil tastes us
Plants taste us
The excrements we create from it
have potencies
Create green
Let plants grow,
And flowers

as Convinced patient travellers
We were drifting in the ocean
Round as we are
fantasising in the waves about a new home

A place of peace was the desire
when we arrived
Captured we got
Kept for entertainment
To uplift bored minds
and to guard “sacred” fountains

The others
Were brought to the northeast
And employed to make what creates light
as what got known as nuclear power
Our skinny descendants

Filled with anger and fear
At night
And hidden from their eyes
We let sink our feces
let it Melt in their waters
those “sacred” waters

waters of magic
Fountains of magic
A sacred spring
Thats how they believed it
Writing poems and songs about it

They fantasised of their healing waters
But In fact
addicted they got
with blured minds
In need for more and more water
Stuck in a morbid visions

Till today they won’t`t accept the truth
Those stubborn creatures
Not want to accept
That it is us
Our excrements
that enrich and refine
create visions
create vitality
Blur realities
and write history

Wherever we fall
Plants and flowers Grow
Life is generated
just Look at our home
Our island
We turned ashes into life
Soil into blossom

We are kept alive through his mind
the space he creates for us
in exchange
we make his thoughts believable
by realizing paintings for him
Paintings he calls them
What a lazy mind he is

At the end we are the ones
who know how to Express our desires, feelings and loss
Some say it is kitsch, we think it is reality
Giving expression to the long way that we have travelled
trust me
We are the ones to belief in
Just come in and take a look


The humans stayed with their story of a mystical fountain,
a “sacred” spring that brought up waters of enchantment and life to belief in.
It seems that sacred fecal matter, potent as it is and was,
Is nothing they would want to name or engage with
Not even want to talk about.

Till today, as a species to be extinguished, few of the pacific hermits try to find a new habitat
Crossing the worlds oceans by floating on its waves

In several cases the modern world denied access to theirs vehicles
Knowing about the poluting matter that is forced upon their mother
And left with a feeling of discrimination
The hermits would not take it too personal and happily drift the oceans
On their gasy round bodies to find a new place of desire.