YEVORA. Her name came in a dream. Part bird, witch, and lost, lonely soul. She cries to be fed, to feel something, to fly. She’s been kept away, like an unruly science experiment. Born from corn husk, dead flowers, feathers, fur, plaster, old guitar strings. She’s delirious. Insatiable. Full of grief, fantasies…
What is that she’s babbling?
“I want to be where the people fly…….nothing ever happens unless I close my eyes……feed me..or let me die…….will you miss me when I’m gone? will you hold my hand? I want to eat the garbage in this garbage world……feed me!!! feed me!!!”
