Wednesday, December 31, 2008

On The Last Day Of The Year...

I took an inventory of all the things I'll be doing on the last day of the year (shovelling the driveway has already been taken care of) I realized that today, after the first session of dance, it's time to spend a little money on myself for a job well done (not finished, mind you, but this definitely was a good year) I am going to go buy myself a spectacular camera, because I can afford it, and I think it's time I started capturing my narrative in images building up to my show (and I have an underutilized talent for photography, and I think it's time to make a major investment in myself) I'm also going to stop on over to my favourite clothing store and buy myself some sexy dancewear and this red shirt I've wanted, because red is the colour of blood (blood is primary, after all) and of passion, and I feel like wearing a little red tonight, when I go out dancing (I also have a go-go gig on the side tonight later on, so hopefully I don't freeze in my booty shorts) I look really good - quite healthy, actually (so I think to set the tone appropriately for the New Year, it's necessary to take a few of those clothes off, I say) I'm going to go have tea somewhere and do some more writing, and go see a dance partner off before her vacation (I'm looking forward to seeing her again upon her return, and really working) On the last day of the year, I'm going to go for a long walk through the city, even on this insanely cold day, because I've spent the last three months walking outside for my job, but always having to stop at every door (Today is a good day to just not stop, eh?) I'm going to acknowledge that I intensely lust and want for several individuals, and at the same time I'm going to let them go. Not permanently - not at all. Just for now, because I'm an artist, and this artist has work to do, and is truly tired of being an obvious choice that is not taken. The New Year is about New Ways, and the New Way is this work, and explorations of my many other untapped talents. No more wasting time, and though this sounds like a resolution, I am rather in the mood to be resolved to just do this show, and let the rest attend to itself.

So on to the day, and the New Year, we go.

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

A Word

I'll have to make this quick since my presence has been requested at the CBC for something (a very unexpected something, I might add) I finally got a little rest, and it definitely helps. Today will be a busy day, and I know what it is that I will be doing for New Year's Eve (as always, it'll involve something uniquely entertaining - I hope I don't freeze, truth) If you ask me how I feel I'd say that I'm still waiting for someone to open their mouth (I'm quite a good listener, you know) What I also do know is that even though I use the word 'waiting,' I do not feel as if I am rooted in one place going 'Yes? And?' I may be a little pissed at one of my dance partners at the moment (I forgave her for her interference in this matter late last night, so we're good) All I know is that it's better to say something than to stay muted, because the longer silence goes, the more foolish it will seem when one's mouth opens up, because the reality is that it's better to express what the heart feels in word and body, than to not say a thing at all. The world is full of people who truly do not speak from their heart, and though this planet is full of beauty everywhere, it's still untapped potential, and repressed, and holding back. If I think of the muse of stanza #2 (That's you, Sam) something tells me that under the right circumstance, there is absolutely no restraint. All that is ever required for bedlam is a word or two, and whether it be a 'Yes...' or a no, though it could be bitter or sweet, all that really is required, is a simple word. Say something? I'll listen. I'll even understand (You know, I'm quite good at that, as well)

I should go. Busy day ahead. With the stripping down of this narrative I've never been so excited over anything I've ever created, so it's off to this 'conversation' at the mother corporation, and then back to work.

Monday, December 29, 2008


I think I am awake far too early (but there is so much to do today, I don't think I could lie in bed for long, really) I honestly don't know if I gave up late last night or simply found a pocket of daylight, but either way the only think you can do is move forward in a constant motion (even sitting still has it's progressive act, eh?) Hey, I've said plenty, really - geography puts limitations upon what a man can do, and sometimes words are simply not enough to inspire a parallel act in return. I know there is shyness, and I know there is hesitation, and if I am John Cusack in a phone booth in the middle of a rainstorm talking to his sister going 'I gave her my heart, and she gave me a pen...' or Roxanne speaking to Christian 'I ask for cream, you give me milk and water...' at least I give my heart, and and least I ask for cream, and though I'm not everyone's cup of tea in the early morning, I'd rather be the individual who does so, than be cold (You asked me a few days ago if I still found you attractive, and you know the answer is still Yes) I will arrive in Montreal February to perform, and the answer will still be Yes. One thing I've tried to do is see things beyond my own dick, and look at the larger reality, and the reality is that I really do understand, on some level, a certain kind of decision. I am also still a man, though, and if I'm going to refer to Say Anything and Cyrano De Bergerac, then I should also be Prince on stage in front of Morris Day and Appolonia going 'Do You Want Him, or Do You Want Me...?!' and then proceed to have sex with the stage while doing so (I know if Prasad read that he'll be laughing) Last night I stripped my show down to it's bare parts - the prologue which was the initial structure of the entire show (A piece rejected by granting agencies, but in it's earlier forms as a simple piece of writing inspired many a 'You wrote THIS?' comment) A third stanza rooted in the longing for someone of a long time ago (if anything, it's as good of a piece of longing as there has ever been) and knocking on Finklestein's door a month ago, and having him tell me 'You should forgive yourself for what happened, it wasn't your fault...' was as lovely as a gift from the gods as I'll ever receive. There is the epilogue, where I actually sing (That's right, I SING, and when you hear what it is that I sing, you'll understand quite clearly how appropriate it is to the occasion) And then there is the 2nd stanza, and that Stanza has your name on it. Your name. And in this, there are few words, and many actions. It is the hardest thing I've ever done - harder than a year full of cancer and seizures and almost losing an eye. I honestly can't do all the choreography I've come up with so far. But I will by the time February rolls around, and the silence of one particular individual has made me wish to do this even more (if that were possible) The rest of the stanzas (and the other muses) will have to wait for later on this year, in another show or offering (my apologies to those individuals, but you can wait - I've waited long enough, myself) This is my show - four parts (one for every single chamber of the heart?) I sing, I dance, I act, and I want. So I should finish this entry, and attend to morning ('We, oppressed who love, must win...' after all...) If this offering is not enough for one, it is definitely enough for me (and I'm guessing that someone will not be so silent if they see it) I'd say I'd want to kiss her sex for a long time this morning, and though I genuinely do, upon this day, at the end of the year, I do not truly know if she's ready for it (I've known enough lovers this year to know that in the end, they settle for mediocrity, rather than the taste of something real, and that is how they become ex-lovers)

If for some reason you are ready, then you should say something (I'm a good listener, remember?)

On a further pop-culture note. If I were an auto mechanic, I'd be Bruce Springsteen with a freight train running through the middle of his head, leaving keys upon a mailbox (though I think in my video, I'd use them to open the door...)

Off to the day we go.

Sunday, December 28, 2008

He's Lost Control

I had a violent, albeit it good night last night. There was a lot of dancing, and an evening lacking in inhibition (I'm glad I'm the kind of individual who can indulge in such things sober) Where the restraint has gone, I don't know, but I don't think it's coming back anytime soon. Am I grateful for the discipline of dance, well yes (You have no idea how much working up three sweats a day is saving my sanity at the moment) I feel better, and I feel stronger, and wilder, but also more bent, and apt to lose it, and emotionally volatile. I'm turning into the character I created in my show (and yes, he is more the person I would want to be, rather than the person that I am) I told this to Veronica once and she and I agreed that it's something genuine to find that place in art, where you do have the opportunity to aspire to something more, and greater, beyond you, and understand that you aren't something yet (but are trying) He is who I wish to be, because he isn't cool - he's precise and focused but apt to explode at any moment, and all of his violence is brutal lovely (mine still is a little restrained) Maybe it's the girl of the last stanza (You know who you are) What am I doing, really, to want someone so much? What? Is it really justified? (I'm using rational thought to justify desire, oh that's really smart) All I know is that the more I dive into Him the more I'm starting to become the guy I created. I don't mind, because it's what I wanted. But I didn't anticipate or expect this feeling - this feeling of longing that is in one of the stanzas from years ago, all of a sudden present in the now, for a girl who is presently standing by a window, staring skyward, saying absolutely nothing. It would be one thing if she wasn't attracted to me - I wouldn't like it, but I'd let it go. The fact that she is, though, is starting to hurt. It really is, and I don't know if I can't take much more of it, or if it's a case where I really can, and it truly is being poured into a fabulous piece of art. I desire more than one person at a time - it's my nature, I won't apologize for it, and I don't commit anymore for a reason. It just so happens that the girl who is the quietest, and who says nothing, is the loudest in my body (and I confess, in the heart) Thank god I'm an artist - I can take this out on a stage (and I'm so much better at it now than I was) If you ask me truly though, in this case, I would rather piss on the art and be inside of her body, than do a show that is loved by many. I know that feeling won't last (I'll still want both - to kiss her on the mouth and to perform worldwide seems like an ideal combination) But today, on this day, I'd rather not be a performer, and rather be her lover. So to hell with me today for feeling like this, and for my lack of sanity on the matter. Today, sanity does not prevail. I am only thinking with my body, and my cock, and wanting to fuck her badly, and leaving it at that. Tomorrow, I will still want that, and the stage - I won't feel like I'm having to choose (why does it even feel like that?) If all that can be left to be said is on the stage, I won't complain. No matter how this post sounds, I have a good life teetering on the edge of greatness. Today, it just simply doesn't matter so much (Tomorrow will be different, no doubt)

I should go sweat again.

Saturday, December 27, 2008

It's the little details...

Time is wonderful. I've never had this much breathing room. Somehow, even while paying off my mom's mortgage, I've found myself with enough for a down payment on a studio (elsewhere, mind you - Toronto property values, shame on you, really) Even more, though, I have time to create, and it's quite an extraordinary thing to see the physical and emotional changes the last few months (I wasn't able to properly reflect since I really have been working for the most part since May) I changed so much. Really. More in persuasion and clarity than anything, and though I'm still wild in the heart, I think a part of me is a little more measured in intent. I make mistakes still (but less of them, and so inconsequential it's funny) My job teaches being blunt and immediacy, and when I return to work upon the 7th of January (only to leave on the 30th to start performing) I'll miss it for that, but I'll be grateful for those skills which I apparently needed work on. I still need a lot of work, actually, but I really am getting there. It's an unusual feeling (I feel like I never get 'there...') I was writing a cheque to rent a venue in Montreal today (I haven't sent it, but I'm staring at it, and laughing that even when this leaves my bank account, I'll still have plenty to do what I have to do) I feel like I've earned this time - I've bought myself a little freedom and space to make such a thing permanent. I have a chance, and it feels quite tangible, and lovely (and scary even, in the best of ways) I look at the work, and it still sings. The body does, and so does the voice. I wonder what happened - when did the switch flip to this (and I stayed away from so many people for such a long time because I needed to get here, in silence, not necessarily on my own, but a little more alone) Yet there's still passion, and it's greater, and in the few interactions I have had with the outside world, I've been told that there's something new about me that others see (and it's a compliment) Maybe this is what a relaxed tension is - the thing eluding me in dance I have (and maybe I finally got it in life) You can still be wild, and with fire and heart, and still be at ease with it (I guess you can say, I walk around now without a care in the world, and I don't know when that happened, but thank the stars that it did) So it's the end of the year, and I have my show, and all the funding I need to pull it off the way I wish to. I'm heading to Montreal in early March, and I don't know how many times I will perform in Toronto (if any) before then (I'll think about it) And then onward to Halifax, and back here for a while before I see the west. At the conclusion of this summer, I'll have gone cross country, and I'm glad for that fact. I love summer in Toronto (but I don't mind not being here for some of it)

As for my heart when it comes to desire well, let's just say that I'm worthy of being wanted, and leave it at that for now.

Come to my show, eh?

Thursday, December 25, 2008

It Might As Well Be New Year's...

I've calmed down somewhat since my last post. But not completely. Maybe I needed to fall off the edge a little bit, and stop acting so cool, when it's better to be hot. It's Christmas Day, and all I've done is either rest or dance (and I'm about to do the latter once more) Then it's staying unplugged, away from most technology (save for the headphones and the music coming out of them) and it's back to writing. Writing this show. Writing this show which has turned into an entire playlist of stanzas, where I'm losing track (and the mere fact that I'm losing track when it comes to this particular subject matter, tells me I've been exposed to a certain kind of emotion and loss far too much, and I am genuinely sick of it) If you ask me how I appear, it's calm, not with an expressionless face, but quite focused (I don't think I'd want to be someone in a staring contest with me right now, because they would lose) I was told by a friend late last night that she thought I could burn a hole in people with the look in my eyes now, so if anything, falling off the deep end emotionally has done something wonderful for the art. I found the source, and ultimately, that is what matters. Sometimes you can't do anything about the actions of others (nor should you even try, unless you're trying to save their soul from an addiction or death) We love who we love, and we want who we want, and my job right at this moment is to dance what I dance, and write what I write, and hope that it translates well enough upon a stage to make people think. Or make you think (or even better, feel) If you're a girl who is part of the subject of this show (and there are a few of you) I'm sorry, but all I've got is my longing, and my desperation, and my wild, and if that's not enough for one (or a few) of you, whether I've known you, or have yet to know you, all I can say is that at least, there is no illusion. I left my heart out there for all of you to see, and if that's not enough, then I better get accustomed to the fact that I am simply going to be one of those people who ends up alone, because he couldn't settle (and sorry, but I've heard a lot of voices, and the majority of you, when you turn aside to your sleeping lover, for one brief moment, know that you are settling) I can't. I'm incapable of it. I want that higher love and if it means bruising and ripping my body up on a stage to show it (and yes, to even show you) then so be it.

Time to dance.

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

I wrote you an email

I wrote to someone in the morning (it's just past midnight, now the 23rd) and I told her things that were burning on my lips. I hate technology. I hate that it was technology that had to be the medium of expression, but so be it (I said what I had to) You asked me last night if I still found you attractive, and I said yes (those of you who are linking to my blog here from an outside source, probably have an idea who it is) I'd say your name but I'm saving it for a stage, and you should know I am only growing wilder in the hours since I said what I said. Have I not earned an audience? (You remember that line) Right now, at this moment, I gather you are lying in someone else's bed, and I truly do understand it. I would only tell you that my body is warmer, and harder, and far more wilder than most of the boys who chase after your skirt (my mouth keeps mouthing your name after every sentence, like I want to say it badly, but I'm still saving it for the stage) Maybe that's why my show is about what it's about, because I am the more understanding, and the greater of lovers, and when things fall apart, when your boys scatter like rats away from light into the shadows and behind the walls, I stay and stay so very well. I find you information and I hold your hand and if I'm far away I use words that make you feel like I am. Yet it is past midnight, I have danced twice, and you are in his bed. He who has failed you in a short period of time, while I have never, and have always been here. People disappear and come in and out of your life and here I still am. I would tell you that it breaks my heart but it only beats stronger, and I assure you, when I arrive in that town of yours and I finally whisper your name with corresponding narrative and choreography, maybe you will finally realize just what you have on your hands (and learn a little more about the man who is still waiting outside) I know you have thought about me lying in your bed (fucking god, will you just let me in?)

Thursday, December 4, 2008


I've been ill the last seven days, and I've lost a lot. One would argue that perhaps I was simply meant to. If I apply reason, or rational thought to this all - if I step back and observe things from a distance and wonder about the nature of the last seven days, I would argue that the fever was necessary, because my body desperately required to detoxify, and that I needed to be at a ground zero, so that if I wanted to pursue all narratives, and head into the new year unfettered, and with momentum, I required loss. So this is loss. It began last Friday with a simple knock on the door, and a stranger (in the beginning) who answered, who upon reflection, was a pivotal figure in my life three years ago - someone who I was aware of, and never knew, who tied into all the longing and loss that brought me to this point. I shook his hand, and I wonder if he was the one who was sick, who gave me this (it would make sense if he did, really) And then one by one, lost loves everywhere. I would say everyone I have been wanting the last while, in one form or another, shared their love elsewhere (only one of these persons was in an official relationship) One by one, every single longing became officially unrequited (not to say there isn't potential there, but let's be a realist, if there was immediacy to it, I wouldn't be writing this blog, but kissing one of those girls) Maybe I need to admit that I am alone, and that's not a statement of nihilism or even self-pity, but again a rational, logical perspective - I simply am. I am the shoulder, the friend, the brother - I am the one who everyone comes to when they are despairing, and not when they are desiring. I take initiative, and few, if any, take the parallel with me. Maybe this is just simply space, because I have a show to work on, and a studio to build (and money to earn that goes towards both) Maybe I just required being stripped down and cleaned out and be at a loss, because space is simply being made for what is ahead. I like that thought. I love that thought, actually. Sitting here, sipping on tea and feeling my body wake up for the first time in seven days (still ill, mind you) I realize that I may have lost a lot the last week. It may have hurt in the body and the heart, but if acknowledgement of how I feel, and a stripped down body to rebuild properly is the result, I have no complaints.

So please, just get this fever out of my body, so I can start again.