This morning, after an ocean whitefish bacchanalia, I sprinkled more psychological sugar to the script of All That Glitters Is Not Gold. Then, after a litter box hootenanny, I asked my housemates to assist with set development (or as Godard might say "le mist en scene").

We've begun building the god machine, strobes for the fantasia light sequence, and a wire for Thumby's rendition of Madonna's "Just Like a Prayer" where, suspended from the ceiling, she swings across the room throwing punches in the air and, after a good fight, lets go and learns to enjoy being a human yoyo.