Sa bouche ne connaît pas de dimanche [Their mouth knows no Sundays]—a blood-soaked fable.
What is the origin of our world : our creation in a few days.
We had fun co-writing our intimate genesis. We peeled back the layers of our selves and brought to light our ambiguous relationships with Catholicism, the sacred, and purity.
Flesh came to bind these questions together—the flesh of the animal, the flesh we eat, the meat we feast on. The pleasure of the taste of blood and the guilt that accompanies the killing for sustenance. The need to confess.
We decided to play at being divine creatures and secular characters, and to create together a lighthearted yet dark comedy and a committed yet dreamlike performance.
Rébecca’s roots lie in Martinique. Pierre’s roots lie in Brittany. But Rébecca realizes she is Black, and Pierre becomes gay.
Then Rébecca wants to become the Holy Butcher, while Pierre banishes God from his life because he was born Innocent.
At the origin, too, is the pig—the one raised and slaughtered in Brittany,
The one celebrated at the table at Christmas in Martinique, and the one imported to the island by the first colonists.

*Sa bouche ne connaît pas de dimanche comes from the Martinican Creole expression Bouch li pa ni dimanch.