Space

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.

Tag, You're It...

I've got two evolving narratives on the go - one the solo piece to debut in Montreal in late January, and another is a new idea based in an old concept (something which I might have wanted to explore a little while ago, but didn't have the strength or inclination to fully do so (or the wisdom combined with the knowledge along with the body...) Suddenly I do, and I have a willing partner (which absolutely does help, when it comes to the pursuit of this idea - it's good to know that there's someone saying 'Yeah, I'd love to do this...') It's rooted in jazz narrative, and it's linear, and it's two lovers in dialogue, in between kisses and the potential for fucking (I love either crossing lines, or dancing upon them) Either way, I look at the calendar this early grey afternoon and I realize that I'm giving notice to my practical job (a few weeks from now, it will be time to stop) so that I can return to Montreal, perform my show (and see what happens, eh?) I'm glad at this moment, and perfectly fine with how long it took to get there. I'm glad that even though I do love my job, that I'm leaving it again (I left it before to go to Montreal, and things worked out perfectly fine, but I wasn't the man I am now when I did previously, and the man now is far more wilder, and far more precise) I am thinking then that it matters to just look at the next few weeks as a continual stripping down (I've already let a few people go in my life, while inviting others in, and that will be the trend) Maybe I won't talk as much, and just work even more, but if you're choosing a time to do such a thing in a year, late November into all of December seems spiritually correct. Soon, it will be a new year. Soon I will have even more money and resources to put on one hell of a show. Soon I will have even more of a downpayment on a studio space. Do I play the role of the therapist, or do I become the dancer? (You know what the answer to that one is) A man is a reflection of his space, and mine is spartan, with all things put away, with plenty of room to move, and plenty of dancewear to wear out, so it's time to say less (well, not here) and do more.

So here we are.

Today

So much has changed since I last wrote two months ago, and now that I have survived all levels of cancer and injury, I suddenly woke up clean and empty and so full with desire and wild intent, and though words are such a powerful thing, I suddenly saw my body again in aftermath and realized that I have plenty I can give with it without saying a word, and that the daring thing would be to do so, and to not necessarily forget the past when it comes to longing and desire, but to simply just be physical with a laugh and a wink, and forget yesterday, and just be in the now, because the now is so delicious and sweet to taste, I simply want it more in my mouth right now.

Now.

I am feeling desire on several levels, in so many situations or places. It's like everything now drips with want, and I don't know if it is because I am finally settling into my skin, and taking progressive action, or if it's simply time for pleasure. All I know is that I am walking around hard, and it shows in my eye contact, and the motion of my body, and I think I will absolutely enjoy my upcoming trip to Montreal, merely so that I can be around more people who seem to appreciate something far more open and sexual (really, Toronto for all it's beauty, and beautiful people, still has that classical air of repression) I was catching people staring at me yesterday, on the streets, and on the train, and everytime I returned a gaze a pattern would develop, where they would look away, or look up and around, but eventually back again (my gaze never wavered - I stayed staring, and you could tell there was intent in my eyes, no doubt) A feeling like this only inspires wanting it more, and doing more to have it, and I find that the more that I take care of my body and heart, the more I feel like devouring, whether it's in eye contact, or my mouth somewhere appropriate (really, if some of you opened your legs, I'd stay there for days, because what is better than dance and sex?) I was picking up supplies for my show (Hello American Apparel Underwear) and realized that it's no longer a show, but that this is my music. I play pieces with words and the body, and this is not a formal theatrical presentation (even in your room, it doesn't have that formality) It's just a guy on a bed doing physical monologues, and laughing with the audience in between set pieces, and indulging in improvisations around the standard notes. It's jazz music, and jazz is what started all this madness years ago. I came back home, essentially. It's Coltrane. But the instrument is my body, and my mouth, and I think I speak both of the show, and the want I have for you (and for you, and for you, and for you...)

You should let me play you, darling.

I feel strong. Powerful. I can see it in my body, and in the comfort and ease I have slipping into certain kinds of situations before, where I'd fail at. Words are precise, and I'm not hesitating anymore with what I have to say, whereas I remember days when I couldn't even allow myself to experience desire, or be physical in the way I am now. I used to not have this much courage, and I know that surprises some people who've only known me for 3-4 years, but it's quite true that a lot of the experiences I have had in the past, I fell into by accident, or was the one following, whereas now, it's a mutual walking together (I only like to lead in dance...) I used to not improvise, and now it's all proceeding on the fly, and where I used to cherish a good night's rest, I can't get any sleep anymore, because there is just too much of pleasure to be had, and my mind simply can't rest anymore (and the body has to follow) I'm not saying I am a saint, and I'm not saying I've treated a lot of the people I know fairly, but I know what the fall ahead is about to bring, and that's a lot of posing for artists, and a lot of travelling, and a lot of performing. I am performing now because I decided to accept a certain failure of my body, and understand that maybe it breaks down so much because I've been trying to do something it's not capable of, and that's okay. But what I am capable of is so much, and I've finally given myself over to it, after a long time of fighting it. There's nothing wrong with a wild piece of physical theatre, and suitable, inappropriate contact to go with such a thing. Maybe that's just me, and why I've been so quiet with some of the people I have loved, because I had to learn how to be myself. It's not easy, and I won't always do it well, but trying is turning into living, and I like sleeping on floors, and in strange beds, and staying unaffiliated. I took an old piece of narrative from a hard memory, and now it's something that is ready, and in a few days, it will debut in Montreal, and where I have to leave a certain art behind, a new one is now waiting for me, and I feel like a fool that I didn't see it sooner (but hey, maybe I just wasn't meant to see it so soon, eh?) My knee or my head doesn't even hurt right now, and as for my heart well, it may potentially ache now and then, the next while, but not for a lack of daring (and daring these days, suits me fine...)