Madness

Something within me has snapped, and it feels as if it's about time it has. I always have expressed that the character I've been developing for my show is the man that I am not, but who I wish to be, and I find that the more the narrative has expanded as of late, the more I seem to be bending to the true aspects of my nature, and he is it - he's my being truthful, and the man I don't always show. Perhaps it's a courage thing, where I've bent to certain perceptions of myself, or perhaps it's simply a case of it taking a little bit of time to evolve. Whatever the reason, I don't wish for it to stop, and I have a strong inclination that it is not only going to not stop, but further intensify, and that this summer, more than any other, will absolutely have that long, hot quality to it. I feel it when I'm walking - new motions that require exploration on a dance floor that aren't contemporary, but are definitely primal. That I wouldn't exactly be a contender upon any one of those various dance shows that seem to be in fashion (I'm waiting for the trend to die out, and it eventually will) But that if you wanted soul, and a little bit of medieval daring, I could give it to you over and over again and you'd still want more. My face is changing (or the way I at least look at things with my eyes) I'm staring at everyone pretty in this town, and I don't really care if it's a town afraid of eye contact, because there is the odd individual who looks back, with a smile. The winter rust is now off, because there are no cold days interrupting the soft spring we've had, and suddenly things turned hot. The body feels free, and I don't have issues with being tired or fatigued or sick. I walk in the sun for a living. I live in a pretty town with pretty girls and crazy artists and a forest and a lake, and unique neighbourhoods aplenty, and my job affords me the opportunity to learn how to make people bend to my will - a skill that is being applied to my exploits upon the stage (and frankly, now elsewhere, without inhibition) Truth is, maybe it's not madness. Maybe, quite simply, it's me, being myself.

You can let go now.

I took a walk not too long ago with a very beautiful woman, and she asked me questions that others have not asked me for a little while (You can tell a lot about someone by the questions they ask, you know, so as women go, she's as impressive as one as I've ever met) Considering the walk was for almost four hours on a brilliantly beautiful day, and it involved everything from the city streets, to the lake, to the forest within the city, we had plenty of time, and a variety of visual stimuli, to talk of a great many things. A point she brought up to me made me think of what's about to happen, not only with my show, but the narrative I put away three years ago (The narrative I put away three years ago, which was resurrected while I was ill) Maddy is part inspiration for returning to it, and the core of it is still rooted in what was, but what was, is in one sense, something I let go of a little while ago. You can still be inspired by a woman, even if you no longer want her (keep in mind that if you asked me to fall into bed with someone who was in my life, I'd probably do it, but that doesn't necessarily mean I was meant, or wanting, to stay) I was also thinking of a girl who called me when she was drunk, about two months ago (one who was still with her boyfriend, the one she left me for) who was wondering if she had missed her opportunity with me, or had messed up our friendship (She could never mess up our friendship, but sitting her now, I believe she had missed her opportunity with me, though you can never tell what the future will bring) The point is, there is no nostalgia for past lovers anymore. It's an odd feeling. I don't want to kiss anyone of my past, and I hardly wish to kiss anyone of the here and now (though you know who you are) One of my workers yesterday expressed that I speak of sex a lot, and there's no doubt that I'm quite a sexual being, but just because one is sexual, doesn't mean one is inclined to sleep with every girl he meets. I'm simply not. I'd rather get to know someone in order to want them, and the reality is that if you disappear out of my life for long stretches of time, I'm going to lose desire for you. It will just fade. Doesn't mean it can't be reignited, or that it isn't necessarily there (You can lose desire, and it can be buried within, but if you know the triggers, you'll spark it again) The girl I took a walk with (who I hope to continue to become great friends with) told me simply 'You should finish the book...' and she's right. You can care about a woman, and find them intensely attractive, and even want them on some level, but you don't necessarily have to fuck them. Truth is also the fact that no one is exactly beating down my door to fuck me at the moment, so there's a perfect symmetry at play. The reality is, whomever I desire at the moment, in specifics, is my personal business. Truth is that I don't want anyone I wanted in the past. Opportunities were missed, and some things will simply not be. But in the here and now, I've got a lot of time, even with work, to not only start performing the show, but finish that piece of work that started everything, with new, fresh inspiration (Yes, Maddy, you are definitely a part of that, so thanks, my beautiful new friend) The work, for now, will have to be my lover, and the truth is, I'd rather finish everything first, and then kiss someone later. I am thinking that my lips should be dry for awhile, and I should remain unsatisfied just a little bit longer, and that it's time to let go of those who tell me that they love me only when they are drunk, or those who turn to me only when their boyfriends are away, or about to leave (or are negligent) or that it is time to let go of those who say 'I can't do this anymore...' or 'but what if he finds out?' Truth is that the fresh air cleaned out my lungs, and I'm breathing quite easily on my own, now. Nostalgia can interfere with the clear thought in present - you keep thinking of the past, and you are doomed to live in it, and on this day, after being sick for seven days, I feel like living, and living, for me, no longer involves waiting, so you can let go now. You are free now of my being your possibility. I believe in you, but I do not want you. Maybe I will later.

But not now.

Maddy pt. 4

You have a frail heart. This I learned this morning. I seem to have a frail body nowadays, you know. The last six days I've barely been able to move my body, and it's weakened so much, I'd say I feel like an invalid at the moment, and can barely move (It won't last, this I know, and I'll get stronger) You though, you live with something a little more grave, day to day. I am even more amazed at you now than I was yesterday, as to how you can, day after day, do things few people truly can (only a very small percentage of the world can even come close to the things you can do, you know) If we talk about the human heart suffering, then I can only imagine how strong you must be to endure so much damage to your heart, in the literal, but also in the emotional. How your heart has already been broken before any man came along to do so again. How do you do it, Maddy? How do you wake up day after day and put on your best smile and work through your daily ritual of motion and not fall apart? I know I'm an interesting one to ask that question, considering I've had just about every single ailment under the sun and I do the same, but I've lived with a lifetime of disappointment and false starts and potential unrealized (funny that now, all of those things no longer apply, since the hope is now genuine and justified) I've lived with such things and learned to deal with them, and now I'm on the cusp of turning all things around, where all the heartbreak and the pain of the past will transform into such joy, I think what I've had to go through, no matter the level of pain, is nothing compared to the girl running down the street in a strange land, so young, and so afraid, and so helpless. Nothing of what I've had to live with compares with what you've had to deal with, Maddy, and on a day where I'm trying (I'm really trying) to dance, and find my body and my strength again, you are the one who is inspiring, and so heartbreaking at the same time.

I wish I could kiss your chest right now.

Maddy pt. 3

There is strength in your frailty. I don't know if people understand that the more you thin out, the stronger and the wilder you get. Perhaps everyone has always wanted you to fit into a particular mold, and be a certain kind of dancer, or a certain kind of girl, and it's always been an impression of what someone else has wanted - an artistic director or a father or a lover - yet no one has ever actually asked you what you wished to be, or how you wish to be. It's always imposed, isn't it? That you have to be a specific form, or fit into a particular sized dress or shoes. You have to walk and dance a certain way, and be a certain way, and nothing else will do. You're always one thing to one person, or another thing to another, and yet you never seem to be satisfactory or adequate, even though I've seen you move, and I've seen you dance, and I know you're far too beautiful to be criticized so thoroughly. You're told that you're too depressing, or too much of a bitch, yet all you've ever been is enchanting. All you've ever been, even when you're falling apart, is divinely beautiful. I've rarely been criticized for an incorrect perception - that usually the things that I see (and the things that I see within people) are precise, or pretty close to the truth of things, so I find it quite odd that the world seems to want to come down on you for things you are (or are not) You're as strong of a dancer as there could be, with the potential for so much more beyond what you've ever touched upon, and that's despite a world that seems to have been in your opposition for year upon year. Your legs must be strong, you know, to be able to walk against such a thing, and I wonder what would happen, if all the things and the people that you've had to dealt with the last while would simply be quiet, and let you speak your truth, and this is where I come in, because I know I speak your truth - in words (and soon, in choreography) Perhaps if you are fed up with trying to persuade others to see how you see things, I may just have to continue to speak on your behalf, and eventually, we'll have to take that to a stage somewhere. Perhaps only then, people will understand, that you may actually know what you're doing, and who you are, and how you wish to be.

I get it.

Maddy pt. 2

There is a moment in your choreography where I have you on a stage, by yourself, draped in linen white cloth, wrapped all around your body (You have such pale white skin that if we were to bathe the stage in soft white light, with a hint of blue, it would almost appear as if you were underwater, I'd think) The cloth would not only be wrapped around your body as if you stepped out of the Roman era, but be falling from your arms, and draped upon the stage, as if you were wearing the largest wedding dress I'd ever seen, and it would be all over the stage. The idea that I've had for you is of a sheathing - of a letting go. Of you in constant motion, ripping away at the fabric, or in a further dynamic motion, trying to free yourself from it. The whole idea behind it is of you letting go, because I'm starting to understand that the most difficult thing for you to do, Maddy, is to let go. It's difficult for you to trust in anyone or anything to have a reason to actually let go of things, and you've held on to them for such a long time, the white fabric wrapped around your body might as well represent chains. You're chained to your memories and to your hurt, and it's the very thing you must wrap yourself in when you sleep at night (I'm amazed that you don't cry yourself to sleep more often, and I don't doubt that you have done so more than a few times the last while) You have had no reason to let go. You've been given no level of trust or no offering without an expectation in return, and you haven't had a taste of selflessness in your mouth ever, it seems like. Men focus so much on kissing you on the mouth (or perhaps one or two may) that they never actually think of giving you something else aside from their sex. You are a dancer who I've seen who has been so weightless so many a time, and yet you are still bound to this earth, and I wonder what you would truly be like if you were free of all of this pain, Maddy. If all great art is rooted in pain, then you have a lifetime of wild, beautiful dance to offer us, but shouldn't the exploration of that pain be from a place of joy? Don't you deserve it, to just not have to deal with so much hell anymore, and just genuinely be able to smile and laugh without thinking about the next thing that will go wrong, or how your body may need fifteen less pounds (You know I think you're beautiful, but I get that feeling) I wonder what kind of dancer you would be, if you were happy. How wild of a form you would have, even in the exploration of the darkest parts of our nature, because I know that like that fabric, you'd leave it all on stage, and not carry it with you, home (And home itself is so much of a hell, I wonder how it is that you sleep at night)

Your choreography is of letting go, you know. We have to find a way to help you let go. That is our challenge.

Maddy

There's a dancer I know in Toronto, who's far too beautiful, to be in so much pain (Though she would tell you otherwise, perhaps) I remember a girl I knew who when I went to her defense over a guy who was threatening her, and stood up to him, she called me her 'stalwart sentinel' (which still brings a smile to my face every single time I think of her saying that to me, before a kiss) Maddy, I think, is like that. Too tough, though. Too strong. Heartbreakingly so, I would say. Too much of pain in that one, with a heart with an infinite capacity for love, and somehow I think the more bruising it would take, the more she would dare to love, as much as she would dare in dance. I'd show you a photograph of her, but you'd fall in love with her beauty too easily, and I think she'd prefer the anonymity of things, though the reality is, she inspires more ideas for choreography for me to keep up with - that I have so many ideas I have to document, not one single one has become a coherent piece (Though one, finally, is starting to take shape, and I think she's going to love it) Maddy underestimates the way she moves, or the beauty of her body (doesn't every single dancer?) I on the other hand, see one wildly beautiful girl, with so much soul, and so much genuine compassion and feeling and depth and desire, and most of that desire is unrequited. The guys in her life invariably let her down, or can't keep up, or don't match up (and this is all opinion - I'm sure she'll contradict some, if not all of these statements, and that's fine) As a result, she feels so alone. It kills me how alone she is, because it reminds me of who I've been, and what I am afraid of letting myself feel, and that is alone. She reminds me too much of myself, and what I've been, and who I may still be. There is also so much poetry in her longing, it's inspiring. She's one of the few individuals who genuinely inspires me at the moment, and I wanted to tell her that in a public place, because I know people read this blog - the people I know do - so it matters. Because I have every intention of finding a choreography that makes this girl shine, and I wanted to let her know that - that a man can believe in her, and her abilities, and her soul, without expectations. That compassion and feeling from one individual - from a man - is possible, and that I hope she still has faith, and belief in love, and doesn't become jaded like me (as I've been, and I'm trying not to be, really) Tonight, on this night where I got a lot done, the last thing I wish to say of the day, is that it matters.

It matters to me, Maddy.

Dizzy

It was inevitable that I would become ill, considering the virus that was running around my house while I was in Montreal (I'm still dizzy, and a little vague, but I'll be fine soon enough) If anything, I should be thankful for such an experience, since it did a masterful job of cleaning my body out (just not in the most polite of ways, shall we say?) Either way, though I am still clearing out the cobwebs, I'm ready to have a day where I do a lot of sweating, and a lot of writing. The interesting thing is how a single voice can wake your entire being up, and that voice happened to belong to a girl I hadn't talked to in a long while. I should technically not be dancing, and yet I want to do nothing more, after talking with her, than dance (and I mean really, wildly dance) It's like all those things I've had to put in motion, which I haven't fully had the time to put into motion, even with the sickness, I suddenly can, and will. I wasn't aware just how much the sound of her voice ties into my ambition, but the reality is that it does. Today is a day to continue the physical progression, to continue to learn about this camera and how I can use it for my show, and to transcribe narrative (and fix that damn printer) Today is also a day to feel better, and to understand that so much of what is to come - all of it, in fact - is ultimately in my hands. Anything I want, I can have.

So have it.

I'll be in Montreal again at the end of July, and this time, I'm coming with the entire show.

Pay Attention

I've noticed that my blog is starting to be read again. I have a friend who also publishes one of these, and we've talked before about the nature of anonymous comments, and how unless you specifically know who the individual is, who is saying something (You'll get hints sometimes) it's as cowardly of a thing as there can be. When I write something, I stick my name and my face to it. I do not hide behind a shadow or a sihoulette, and make random accusations designed to injure because there must be some kind of insecurity, or something lacking in my soul, if I were to do such a thing. Truth is, I'm no saint, but if you're looking for specific evil acts I may have commited, you'll find the number to be at zero. If it were otherwise, I'd be a hell of a lot more private. I'm not private for a reason. Now, if we want to get into a discussion as to the things that go on in my mind, I will only say that if I were to be punished for any imaginings, then the rest of the world would have to get in line, and endure similiar punishment (None of us are saints, and those who claim to be 100 % pure, are truly delusional) If you wish to judge me by actions, I will just say that I don't beat up women in dark alleys, I don't steal purses from old ladies, I don't slip things in someone's drink to take advantage of them at a later hour, I don't lure children into my car with candy and false promises, I don't steal from convienience stores, I don't push old men down the stairs, and I'm certainly not a fan of casual brutality. If you wish to know the one true sin I've commited in action, it would be the beating up of boyfriends who are assholes to the women that I love, and I've done that twice in my life, and to be frank, I'm not afraid of doing it a third or a fourth or a fifth time. So, pay attention for a moment - if you have an issue with me, have the stones to say who you are, and be specific in your accusations, otherwise, calm yourself down, take a look in the mirror, and figure out for me why you're such a coward, and a fool. Or create one of these, and write your own damn narratives, if you're capable of forming a sentence.

Now, back to our normal writing.

Last Night

It just turned midnight. It's my last sleep in Montreal, and my body is starting to feel the lack of proper rest, so I gather I should be happy to be returning to Toronto (I so am, actually) At the same time, I'm sad to leave here. The last two nights at le cagibi for writing have been fantastic (and unexpected surprises have happened along the way) I wish I could steal that stretch of land on st. viateur from Parc to St. Laurent and bring it back to Toronto - le cagibi, st. viateur bagels, the cafes and bars and people hanging out on the street, but especially le cagibi, because it's the first place since Tequila Bookworm where I felt at ease somewhere else, to write (I swear, I may just commute back in by train just to spend time there) I never saw so much of this city on foot in such a short period of time, and somehow, aside from the evening that I pulled into town, there wasn't a single drop of rain, and the temperature was always around twenty degrees celsius, and lovely. I needed these days away more that I could possibly imagine, and though I truly am sad to leave, I'm excited by the fact that officially, summer has yet to begin, and two weeks into summer, I will be back here, and this time, I'll be armed with the full narrative to perform, and this taste of Montreal only compels me to work harder. After I picked up bagels for my co-workers at st. viateur, I walked back down Parc, turned off on laurier, and then on to st. urbain, and walked the stretch down to mont-royal, and that stretch of st. urbain allowed me to see my very first apartment. It was perfect symmetry for the evening, and I realized that I love both my native city, and this one, far too much to let go of either. So if there's a way, I'm going to buy property here still, but not necessarily live in it all the time. All I need is an empty studio to retreat to, that I can call my own, somewhere here by st. denis and duluth, or further up on the mile end, where I spent most of my time in town. It's not an impossible idea, and when I do what I'm capable of as an artist, a lot of doors that are still closed at the moment, are going to be kicked open. I realize this now, and what's at stake, and if anything, I want to get on that train and get back to Toronto, and get back to work. I'll miss this town while I'm gone, and words cannot express fully how special and meaningful this week was to me, and how in the scheme of my life to come, how this week was a turning point. Summertime here is far too lovely, and I'll be back twice more before September, so this is a temporary goodbye, Montreal. You got even more lovely while I was gone, and something tells me that when I return, you'll be hotter than ever.

To Toronto we go.

3964 rue st. denis

I arrived in the evening of the 1st, and I'm still here at the moment (I will be until the afternoon of the 8th) Yesterday was lovely. I performed the first third of the narrative for a couple of critics and choreographers/writers I know (it's a professional relationship - they weren't there to pat me on the back but to give me a good set of honest eyes as to how I'm doing) My opinion of my work is shared by those who saw me yesterday - that I do have something strong on my hands, and after that moment, there was a further urgency to things, of getting this done, and returning here to perform soon (I mean very soon, as in the beginning of July) Yesterday saw a strong performance, the best writing I have done in over a year, and the most walking I've done in a much longer time (I swear, I saw the entire city on foot) It was all on no sleep - I was too wired the night before, and didn't rest until 5:00 am (and woke again at 7:00 am) It was a good day. Today it's a lot more exploration, and a lot more writing, as I saw the weather forecast and tomorrow it's set to rain once more (and chances are, I'll be wanting to stay in to finish up a lot of the writing that I've done, until the evening when I have a necessary appointment with someone)

I know for a fact that you are reading this, Maia. Time does some wonderful tricks to a relationship, and my time in this city, for now, is limited, as the last few hours I have had left are now being occupied with others, and with other things. I am quite fine with that because I'm coming back, and it won't take nine months, but only one. And when I return I already know the space that I will be renting out to perform in. I will be planting my ass in one single place and will be easily found. The last two late nights I've sat outside my apartment in the heart of this city, and simply wrote (and will probably do that again sometime today and tonight) There's a thought I've had in my head that you'd be around to spy on me (which is quite an entertaining notion, and ties in to what I wish to say to you now) Today it will only be for a cup of coffee and for a little idle writing, as there genuinely is so much more to do in the last two full days I am here. I am saying all this because it's alright that once again, I passed through town and you were elsewhere. I don't mind it whatsoever because what I'm bringing back in July, is the most impressive thing I've ever done, and I like the idea that the potential exists for you to see me at my best. You should know that time and space and silence can create a mythology, and that if you truly wish to see me from a distance, you may wish to be here in July for my return. You may wish to come to my show and see for yourself what it is that I do. I am quite fine with silence still, because though I truly love my own city of Toronto, yesterday was the best day I had in Montreal in a long time, and it convinced me to build that bridge between the two cities, so don't fear the silence. There is no opportunity lost. Hell, if you just told me to come into town for coffee for one day, I'd get on the train and see you five hours later for coffee, and it will be money well spent. As far as I am concerned now, I live in both cities, and I commute into Montreal for work, and for pleasure (and you are still the most divine of pleasures, my friend) So, even though I leave on Monday, early afternoon, I can be back in a day, a week (and will most definitely be returning in July) So, no such thing now, as opportunity lost, cause I'm always going to be in this town, now.

Speaking of this town, it's 10:30 am, and I've got a sweat to work in, a cat in the alley to find, and a city to further explore (with writing in hand) If you see a man making eye contact with you, that's me.

Montreal - Day 1.

One of the things I forgot about Montreal, is how the sun sets directly down st. laurent, when you're walking north up to st. viateur (as I was last night) It's a pleasure to be blinded, and to find yourself writing on the couch at le cagibi, and remember what it is like to actually have time, where you're not continually asking the same question of others (as I have been) 'Would you like to do that...?' will turn into something fresher, no doubt, when I return to Toronto (but forget Toronto for one moment) I accidentally charmed a girl last night at the American Apparel across the street from me, so I'm sure we'll be having tea and conversation the next couple of days, and what I've noticed is that the girls in Montreal tend to lock into eye contact more often (Or perhaps I simply look more interesting here, than there) There's a lot of bad sex happening above my head, which confirms the rumour that Montreal men are sorely lacking in stamina or imagination (I've heard far too many stories for me to think otherwise, and the two five minute sessions above me aren't about to persuade me to change my mind upon the theory, eh?) I sweat very well in this apartment, thank you very much, and that helps a great deal (staying up as late as I did last night, probably does not, but I'll sleep just fine tonight, I'm sure) This, being the 2nd full day in Montreal, the next order of business is continuing to expand upon the narrative, hopefully see a few old friends, stop on by the P.O. offices and say hello to Matilde and Marie, and see if a particular girl is available for some more tea and conversation later on in the week (though she should know that I'm patient, still, and that this will now be a monthly ritual of being here) There's also further exploration to be done, and I need to figure out how to work this camera, cause I saw way too many beautiful things to not capture last night (Fortunately, there will be more tonight, I'm sure) So on to day two, and we'll see if today has the charm and the grace, of yesterday.