They made me smoke a cigarette in a gopher mask. They made me play the slut in Sartre’s play No Exit, and I had to wear the same skirt and vinyl boots they were wearing. They made me do a duet with Pooky, a.k.a. Richard Move, where I wore a mask beneath another mask. Pooky and I were both very close to the edge of the stage, moving rapidly and close to each other, flailing to the music—”The Twilight Zone,” by the Manhattan Transfer, a delicate cocktail of four-part harmony, sci-fi, and disco that is so beautiful and wrong it should be farmed off to North Korea—and every single night the mask beneath the mask would shift around on my head while I was dancing, and its eyeholes would move to somewhere around my chin, and I couldn’t see at all.

— Mike Iveson on DANCENOISE, Spring 2009, MOVEMENT RESEARCH PERFORMANCE JOURNAL #34