In "Fucking with Marilyn: the Mixtape", material from the film is reorganised as an experience of listening. The work becomes a second edit, cut for the ear. Musical fragments that appeared on screen return as full tracks, while spoken material is shortened, layered and rhythmically reworked. Their altered proportions change the experience of duration: music can no longer function as a passing cue, and the listener remains inside the tension it produces.

Spoken word provides the work’s structure. The voice performs the montage through tempo, interruption, repetition and displacement. Phrases fracture, return under different beats and reappear after pauses. Speech becomes percussion, hook and interference. Jumps, rewinds and repetitions remain audible, allowing thought to develop through association, recurrence and contradiction.

“Marilyn” functions as a script for femininity: glamour as obligation, availability as performance, visibility governed by the demand to remain desirable, accessible and non-disruptive. The mixtape keeps this script in motion and exposes its instability. Repetition makes it seductive and abrasive at once. Pop music sustains pleasure, while the voice reveals the labour required to produce that pleasure and the pressure carried by the person expected to embody it.

The mixtape operates independently as a sound narrative composed of full tracks and condensed speech. Listening replaces the distance of looking with duration, proximity and recurrence. “Marilyn” becomes a mechanism that surrounds the listener: a system of gestures, desires and expectations that can be inhabited, recognised and resisted without ever being fully left behind.

Released beyond the fixed time and space of a screening, the work enters a more intimate and repetitive form of circulation. Myths endure through what is replayed, quoted and passed between bodies. The mixtape moves like gossip or prayer, from mouth to ear, close enough to act on memory, desire and the learned association between attention and value.

The work asks to be heard until glamour loses its smoothness and its internal pressures become audible: breath, timing, interruption and strain. The myth demands that you look. This mix insists that you listen.