Lyssa is part summer novella, horror screenplay, greek tragedy, psychoanalytic essay, and travelogue into the unconscious. It is the aftermath of a murder scene, like Camus’ gunfire on the beach caused by the sun (except a woman gets naked). It is about the permeable boundaries of reality and madness, the terror of the traumatized body, the uncanny return of the repressed, the crumbling ruins of antiquity and humanity's modern condition – which is modernist! Fragmented, addled, schizoid, in our genocidal time with an onslaught of images and information we ingest, which is fed to us by other people who make money off of our attention as not-so-free online subjects of a war machine. Lyssa explores paranoia, voyeurism, paralysis of praxis regarding personal and socio-political catastrophes, fascism, fear, the interlock between sexuality and politics. It is a story about solitude and friendship, the safety of sitting in darkness with yourself and with others. We need strange poetry in a rigid and unimaginative world of senseless, psychic violence, especially the kind continually afflicted upon female bodies. Dark dialectic intimacies. Testimony. How does one love the world again and again? With terror and contemplation. Lyssa is the goddess of madness who befalls those who dare to suffer for love. 

In memory of David Lynch.