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Rae Boyadjis as Marz

IG: @rae_of_mars  SITE:  www.raeofmars.com

IG: @rae_of_mars

SITE: www.raeofmars.com

c h a r a c t e r b i o

dear you,

i didn't fall from the sky, because it would mean I'd have had to fall.

i am not from under your bed, because it would mean I would have had to be invited.

and I'm not from your dreams, because you couldn't even begin to imagine.

there's a place where the boys are are all swans or gray lions.

there's a place where the girls wear only leather.

i'm a lion.

i wear leather.

we're together.


love,

me.

P R O F E S S I O N A L B I O

R. Boyadjis (Marz) is a performer, aerialist and writer specializing in immersive work, conceptual visual narratives, and performance poetry. As a poet, they have been a part of The Poetry Brothel (formerly Cosette Chapiteau) and the Poetry Society of New York for over a decade. As an aerialist, they directed and performed as half of NYC's premiere queer aerial duo, The Lost Boys, until the pair separated in 2018. They are resident aerial advisor for Speakeasy Dollhouse Productions as well as resident aerialist of The Poetry Brothel NYC. They currently perform solo as Rufio, and will present a new specialized piece, Lady Lazarus, in 2019. Current collaborative multimedia projects include GUTS, SEA CHANGE, and SHE BECOMES ARMOR (please see site below). Clients, colleagues and collaborators include Dark Horse Comics, Amanda Palmer / The Dresden Dolls, Adrian Buckmaster, Company XIV, MEATCANDY Queer Collective, The Secret City, Eric Schmalenberger, Blunderland, Pilobolus Dance, House of Yes, Circus Now!, The Muse Brooklyn, and others. For projects, performance, and information: www.raeofmars.com

i try to think of a genie wish phrased so perfectly

that no madness will befall me once i say it;

one that speaks such volumes of the state of the human spinebreak and so

elegantly bootlaces it together, with the tenderness of 

(my father carrying trees through the door for

us to hang the world on and the bite rushes

in, wind dogs come begging for scraps of my

three year old heart i tear off strips from the

inside and feed them as carols play in the

background) 

i try to think of a wish which melts so eloquently from

me that no loophole tongued from the needlepoint of

it will be discovered and turned against me; that

instead it will embroider itself around me until i’m 

(home with you, i’m carrying trees i carry trees

and my embroidered sternum blooms a jagged

love in ivy needlepoint in angel cross stitch in a

hand-sewn soliloquy that you may have touched

with your mouth when that ocean spilled out). 

i try to think of wish so noble that all the scaffolding

that’s keeping my face together will self-repair and the

cracks around my eyes will fill with once-wept glory.

and my cheekbones will remember how to hold. 

i unhinge from the back i’m carrying trees i

carry trees if you open me there, and reach

your arms in, and cradle your head against the

inside of my chest, then i will rest. 

i came out as venus, with the blue pearls in my mouth

when they came out it was like blood; warmed to a pink i

didn’t understand, i tilled the land of you that you didn’t

know existed until i touched it. 

they thought that i broke horses until those

crumbled bodies shook, grew wings haltingly,

breathlessly, and then took off, pawing at the

unemcumbered sky. 

he smiles a violet smile, his satin hat

untorn he is waiting for me to say what i

am wanting in the room inside my head. 

i am crawling to the bed you don’t see me, but i’m a

blue haze that is beginning. you stretch out your

arm instinctively in sleep, weave another flower into

me. 

he is waiting at the door for me to tell him what i

wish for and i’m thinking of a way to phrase it

without crashing down this house. 

sap leaks from

me she speaks

to me i carry

trees, i’m

carrying trees,

i’m carrying

trees.

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