I was at this lovely place yesterday. It's on College St. and it's named Manic Coffee, near Bathurst (it's a little more decorated now, since this photograph) It was the first time since the old Tequila Bookworm that I felt so at ease in a cafe to not only write, but to talk to strangers (and have them talk to me, without prodding) All this place needs are a few books upon shelves that do not exist, a couple of couches at the back, and a later closing time, and I'd be in heaven. It's been around for a year and a half, or so, but Sunday was the first opportunity I had to actually enter (and I am so glad I did) I swear, I know there will never be another Tequila, but at least I found a place to settle in and actually write more than a few words (and it came upon the heels of a wild day of dancing)
I'm in Montreal in 3-4 weeks. It will be an amusing experience (that's a nod to one of you in particular, I love that word 'amusing...') I'm in the best shape I've been in ages suddenly (god, it's so good to find the dance you love, and stop attempting to be someone you're not, and expanding upon that base) I have that weird 'it's so warm, my body wants to take a nap' feeling that only spring can give, and I realize that when I arrive in Montreal to perform, I don't know if Maia will be there (I have a feeling she will be, and I hope she's alright) I already have a feeling that even though Carolynn inspired the 30 days of wild, she won't be observing the narrative (You should know, if you are still reading this, that I wanted to tell you that i hold no grudge, I truly think you're beautiful, and you can know me if you wish to, be it now or ten years from now, love) Sam will be working down the street from me, and I think I may be able to entice her into a cup of tea, and Sarah? Well, I think she'll have one wild laugh at stanza #2 (I know you're coming, darling - you're courageous like that) The show I bring to Montreal will be observed by an audience made up of 99 percent of strangers (just the way I wanted it) and though the title and the emotion behind it has changed (You see, somewhere in the last fifteen days of afro-brasilian dance, I lost my longing, and found my resolve) I'm still just plain old happy that here I am, looking through classified ads for a place to stay for a couple of weeks (I pray that one space comes through, and oh my fucking god I have a little perfection on my hands) I'm not sick. My legs are scarred, but they are good, and I'm sleeping well again (touch wood) Somewhere in all that dancing I let go of a little something, and I don't miss it whatsoever, and god, that took a lot, you know.
Hey, you should come on out.
(I put on a good show)
