Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want...

Fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck.

That's it. Enough words. There will be no more entries until I show, because telling is an art I should save for my show, at this point.

Expect photos. I'm building the fucking set tonight, at 1:00 am, and I'll shoot this in a few days. Black and White (since the reality is, desire is strictly black and white)

Consider me a mute until then.

The Key Outside My Door

In Montreal, sometime in the spring, I will have a studio space for a month, to perform and live in. I am going to leave a key outside of my door, hanging there for someone (You should be aware by now who you are, though I know so many individuals who will be close to me, in geography, who are close to me in other ways, so I wonder if it is clear who you are, and who you are not) I will say nothing, but I will give you my address. You will know where I am, but I will not know where you are, or if you will come on over, but I know there is a part of you that is tempted to do so, because you love at least the notion, or the possibility of this man, and the touch, and the wild that would come with bending (Are we really such an unspoken thing?) It's a simple key, and when you open the door you will find a bed, and large windows - a spartan surroundings made for only two things (and I will be doing one of those things, hoping and wishing you would come on over for the other) Is it really a surprise, love? Is it really such a difficult contemplation to just wonder about the possibility of, or to contemplate something beyond the simple words of desire, and have something sweeter to the taste (You really do know that I've thought about what you and I would be like, in my bed, and I know such a possibility has even crossed your mind, now and then, so does an entry in a blog really require graphic details? You know them by heart and body by now) So I will make it simple. I will take my space, and perform in it, and in the other days I will spend either in dance, or in the preparation of what is ahead. So that wherever you are in the city, on any day, if you suddenly find yourself wanting your man (and you are well aware, that ultimately, I have always been your man) you should get up from wherever you are, and come on over, and have me. Have me (Not so hard of a thing to do, really) Your key will be outside of my door, and I know you will be tempted (and that will be plenty satisfaction, to know that you are)

That is the only thing on my mind tonight.

Wintry Rust

Out of all of the individuals reading this blog (and do tell why I've had a significant upswing in how many people are reading this, yet none of you are saying hello...) I've probably spent the most time outside, out of all of us (I don't think that is an exaggeration - three days a week in winter working as a door-to-door fundraiser in all kinds of weather allows me to take that statement, I think) You see all those snowstorms and wind chills in Toronto? I've worked in every single one of them, without fail (it would take a severe weather day, specifically a wind chill of minus thirty degrees celsius, for us to call a shift) I've been cold all winter, and my body took a lot of punishment during this season (this season which is soon to pass) In New York, upon the day I arrived, it was fourteen degrees celsius, and it truly was a helpful thing, for I returned to this city in sunshine, and I realized that the tone in the air had changed (Yes, tone is something that isn't measured by the weather network, though it should be) The sun was shining, and there was blue sky (and rarely when I was outside did I see blue sky, in this season of winter) But it was more the way my body felt, and this assurance that no matter the snow or the chills to come, we are now officially in upswing - there is a lot more daylight, and we are no longer marching towards a long cold winter, but to a warm, promising springtime. Everyone talks about it on some level or another, and poets write of it, and singers compose songs, so I won't indulge in such a narrative about new beginnings, and all of the auxiliary cliches that come with it. No, I'll just say that the wintry rust I had is shaking off, and my body is suddenly in rapid evolution, and my stamina is increasing (I am no longer simply preparing for a show, but other things of a more violent, and artistic nature) I noticed my clothes are starting to fit the way I wish them to, and my body language is far more expressive, because I am no longer shivering, or simply focusing upon surviving winter (and trust, being outside so much can bury you long into springtime if you're not careful) I don't exactly feel like a corpse, though, and though I'm tempted to turn on that new camera of mine and shoot these publicity photographs for my show tonight, I'll wait a few more days, because in a few more days I will be a lot more delicious, in narrative and body. Tariq in New York, upon viewing a workshop/stop and start/rehearsal of my show, said to me simply 'This is your 'A Love Supreme' (which was as good of a compliment as the 'That was like watching Henry Miller on a bed' comment of the past) It's true, my show structure has evolved, and I've stripped a lot of it away (A very good sign when you have great material, and choose not to use it, because it simply does not fit - those narratives will be performed another time) The narrative is now in four sections - three principal narratives (the middle 'Sam' compelling me to memorize thousands of words in staccato order while maintaining the wild in the physical - good luck with that one, buddy) and a coda of song. It's a shorter work, but the 35-40 minutes I am in that bed, will feel a lot longer, to myself, and to the audience. New York was amazing because it not only reset my body, but it made me appreciate the urgency to get back here as soon as I could, and take the meditation to a higher level (which, today, I truly have, and will continue to do so) I can't wait to get back to my practical job now, upon the 25th, because unlike before, we will be rapidly approaching springtime, and I won't have to worry about surviving winter, but preparing for spring, the narrative (and you, even)

The rust, quite simply, is gone.

Howling

It's nice to not be in Toronto again (though I do love the city, so this isn't a lament to be elsewhere) New York has it's charms, but I'm not in the mood to do a 'so today I went down to Nuyorica and met a few poets and visited the grave of Reverend Pedro Pietri...' I'm not exactly on a rooftop channeling Pinero, but I can testify that this body is sore from a wild day of physicality last night (and it was in Brooklyn!) At the moment, it's a friend's laptop in The Bronx, and it is my full intention to savour this full day elsewhere by indulging in more dancing (both in and outside) I may return Friday to Toronto, or it could be Saturday (an unexpected road trip to accompany a friend visiting family compelled me here) I was told by a beautiful girl that my imagination is my achilles heel not too long ago, and she is right - an ex-girlfriend, when we broke up, called me not just a dreamer, but 'The dreamer...' In the past I've tended to dream and imagine potentials and possibilities so far and wide, and have had so many bold illusions, it's caused me to divert from paths unnecessarily, and where there should have been tangible results, and historical documentation, all that have been in my hands, and my mouth, is sawdust. Accomplishments have been temporary, or fleeting (just like lovers) But sitting here today, looking back at my favourite country on the planet, I realize that for once, instead of a kiss that would taste like ash, I have a feeling this time it will be warm saliva (and will be followed by so much more sweetness) So while I am in New York City, for at least one more full day, remind me that even though it feels like a vacation, it's still a working vacation, and the intention of today is to have an even wilder, and more of a sore body, than I did yesterday (and to close the night in the company of new friends)

There's a paycheque waiting for me in the office at the corner of College and Augusta, right outside Kensington Market (lovely that I come back from vacation, and I now officially have the funds for Paris)

Four

Increasingly immoral (or amoral?) Violently sexual, indulging in all kinds of perversions, laughing at authority, body rounding into form (and only a few days into the break, so contemplate how he will be on the 25th?) Making a few wild vows that he never thought would come out of his mouth (and laughing at how easy it will be to surrender to every single one of them, such great rewards they do offer, though) Words are becoming less necessary as a means of expression, physicality is becoming more prounounced (There are hints of something more on the horizon) Space still requires evolving, and there are cosmetic matters to attend to (but he's attending to them just fine) Circling a few days upon the calendar far from now (but they are etched in proverbial stone - why wouldn't he, after all?) Though his feet are a little sore, and some muscles that haven't been used in awhile are aching, he knows that the soreness will soon pass, and more of the wild that he is finding will only intensify (and everything will simply get better - from how he uses words, to how he kisses you on the mouth, to how he fucks, to how he dances) He's happy he took time off, and he's laughing at what has already happened in the days he's given himself, but now he feels like there is still another level to find (there is always something higher) but especially in the next two weeks. So he's figuring out what is next upon day four, but is enjoying the vanity of the now, and wishes more than anything at this particular moment in time, in between spasms of wild dancing, to have his lips firmly pressed on someone's sex for a long while (or a mouth open, for that matter) because frankly, the way we all say hello is just too passe (and this seems like a more delightfully way to make a greeting) He's turning into the unapologetic character he created upon the bed, in narrative (and realizes that the point was not to be that man, but to exceed anything he has ever been) So the reality is, he has no idea, how this particular story ends.

Plus, he is simply thirsty (and pardon the obvious) but he wants to drink from your body, long, and deeply, until you are dry, lover.

'C...'

Upheaval. Everything is now upside down, wildly. I'm still breathless from the dancing I just did (never like that - what was that?) And you are the cause, love. This is no ordinary kind of desire, now, and I freely admit and surrender to the violent, and understand that the particulars of what I spoke of earlier are no longer required. There is no publicity outreach, but lower-frequency madness, with hints and rumours, and a man named Ram ('and did you hear about what he did...?') There is photography, but only at angles, and in shadow, and with the corresponding word. So in this time off from the practical, things have been simplified (as have desires, to be frank) All I want and need to do is the kind of dancing that I have done today - all of the physicality and more, and then simply trust that I will be ready when the moment comes.

I'm still shaking. I am still wanting you.

Day One

It's a little before I start my first session of training of the day. I'm on an eighteen-day leave of absence from the practical job. The thaw is on outside, and though we've all been beaten up by winter, I find myself wishing to return the favour, and return to how I was (and so much beyond it) in summertime. In this eighteen day period I will put myself in performance-ready shape (Trust, there's a difference between being in great shape, and being in shape enough to do one's job, perform wildly and maintain such a discipline where you are not standing still, but still improving) I will make sure all the words and actions are memorized, take the publicity photos and prepare the press releases, begin a thorough outreach (which will continue beyond this eighteen day period) for the show. I'll set up gigs, prepare the programs and the flyers AND in the middle of all this intense training, I'm going to reward myself for surviving the winter outside (That's right, I'm going shopping - I'm going to single-handedly stimulate this economy myself) The only reason to go out will be to go out dancing (be it in studio with others, or out to a show) so the reality is, I'm going to entomb myself, repair, rebuild, and upon the 25th of February, when I return to work, soon after, this show will be performed (and I will not stop performing for awhile) I'm still a little under the weather, so I'm dealing with a bronchial infection now, but it won't be so much of an issue soon, so these new disciplines in training that are calling to me today, I can handle. It's going to be a hard and brutal day one, but it is still forward motion, and that simply, is all that matters. Forward motion. Ahead. Springtime.

Laura

While doing my day job a couple of months ago in The Annex, I knocked upon a door, and met this charming man, who later turned out to be someone pivotal in my life, who I had only known in rumour, from the girl you see in the photograph. When I was signing him up to a donation, and asked him for his name, I said to him 'The _______ ______?' in reference to his name. We had a good laugh when we found out who each other was, and he would later tell me to forgive myself for what had happened, and it was one of the few times I've ever been soothed by another man (I'm sitting here with an MP3 Cd of Jazz/Funk that is a gift for him, which we will listen to next week together, while having a drink, my new friend and I) The beautiful girl that you see in the photograph is Laura, ex of The National Ballet of Canada. Laura is like Sam - a subject of my touring narrative - a stanza that is quite different than Sam. Sam is an act of pure pleasure, and a wink and a laugh, and a caress and a sigh. 'Laura' is a piece of longing, and a piece of wanting, and a piece of torture. It is a narrative pulled from the unpublished book I was working on three years ago (was it even longer than that?) 'Laura' is the surviving piece from that narrative, sitting in a box somewhere, unpublished (even though I had one publisher willing to do so) I will, in all likelihood, never pull it out of that box (some things are simply not meant) 'Laura' is a wild piece, and I wouldn't have been able to perform it even a year ago, because the wound felt fresh. It still felt fresh until the day I went to a certain cafe and met a beautiful girl who would serve me coffee (who I would dance with later) and it still felt fresh until I knocked on a door after meeting the girl, and met the aforementioned charming man, who again, gave me the gift of forgiveness. I still miss this girl so much, you know. I only think of the day standing in the old Tequila Bookworm, where it was only myself, and Owen, and a couple of random irregulars sitting at the back couches in the cafe, where she walked in, in her red boots and blue coat, and said to me, very early in our friendship 'I was hoping I would find you here...' The possibility exists that word will get out (I am not doing this show so it'll be small and forgotten, so trust, the word will get out) and she will hear of what exactly it is that I perform. I don't know how she'll take it, but I really don't care, because I have to do it - at the heart of this narrative, I know it all started with her. Longing may pass after years, as will regret, but all great jazz has a tinge of melancholy, and this girl, is mine, my own, my wistful, my lament.

But god I'm grateful for her.

Unapologetic

I was speaking with one of the followers of my blog last night, about being a 'whore' and an unapologetic one at that, because I'm happy. I won't lie, that I desire several women, and it's not ego to say there are possibilities because affections and desire is being returned, and I hide nothing from anyone when it comes to who's mouth I've kissed the last while (or elsewhere, for that matter) I want every woman who's part of my show, for example (well, except for one) I've said time and again that I'm not in the mood anytime soon for a commited relationship (I have too many examples of failures when it comes to such things from other people, or women in these relationships saying things to me like 'sometimes I just wish I was free...') Sometimes? Is the desire to be free not a sign of your true nature, and are you simply not ignoring it? This is me - I want many, and it is not to say that I'll randomly go pick up some stranger somewhere, and have one beautiful night with them, and let it go. Don't mistake my nature as someone who just fucks around, because I don't. I want a strong connection with whomever I fall into bed with, and I've found myself in the beds not of random strangers the last while, but of good friends (good friends, who are actually better friends now) I'm not sleeping around but I have had sex with people the last year who know me very well, who like me, prefer to be unattached. Even if I wanted a relationship, I simply do not have the time to properly pay attention to it, so for me, why would I do that to another woman? My life is full of women who's men do not pay the proper attention to them (trust, if I'm not dancing, or fucking, I'm listening to various horror stories about it) I simply desire a lot, and it's in my nature, and I'm glad I'm not hiding from my own true nature - it's taken a great weight off of my shoulders, and I am truly free to pursue that which I desire, be it in art, or in sex (and you wonder why I'm smiling all the time, ha)

I still have a fever, and my voice is gone for the moment, but today is still a day for the wild (and the last week of work I will have until the end of February)

I am not performing this show merely for the art, but for the invitation for anyone to fall into that bed with me (There is plenty of room for you)

Sam

'Sam' is the stanza of this show I may have the most fun in, admittedly. The last few days, I've heard things from her about someone - a former friend of hers (or perhaps current, but soon to be former) which have been quite cruel, and unfair (and when I get to Montreal, if I see this particular man, I'll make sure I let him know of my displeasure with his ill behaviour) This man doubts her desire, and will to live, and the things she will choose to do, but I do not at all. His words have been the words of a small man, who to me, sounds like the kind of man who once he does not get what he wants, resorts to pathetic insults, and unjustified begging in the subtext (I'm a fan of blatant begging while naked in a bed with someone - it's the only appropriate place for such behaviour, eh?) I don't really think this man knows Sam, and knowing her as I do, I could not help but have her be the topic of one of the stanzas of this show. This particular stanza, I will only say, pays tribute to the nature of our connection (You don't expect me to give away the specifics of my show in a blogspot entry now, do you?) It's done with a laugh, and channels one of the scenes of a favourite movie of mine (think David Lynch, and I'm not telling you the film) but with a different spin, shall we say (If this scene went in another direction, this would be the result) I may never laugh so much on a stage as this point, nor will you ever see such a blatant expression of desire in any kind of performance, in such a wild setting. I've already told her that there is a clear purpose to why I'm doing this particular narrative, and she knows, at the core, the reason for it. The girl in the photograph is complimented widely, and is wanted by many, without a doubt. I've stopped concerning myself, though, with things like want, and would just rather express a different style of wanting (and one that is so bold, I know she'll love it, because I know her) The girl is my friend, and she opens up to me, and leans on me, which I absolutely appreciate, and though I don't know if we're going out for tea after my many performances in Montreal, I have this sneaky suspicion that the first day this narrative is performed in Montreal (and trust, there will be a few performances in my OWN bedroom) she'll be sitting on a pillow at the foot of a bed, watching what she's done to this particular man. I don't know if she'll stay after the audience disappears, and truly, I don't really know if it matters if she does, because the performing of this stanza, if it as gratifying of an act as I have experienced during rehearsal, may have been one of the greatest gifts this man has ever been given, and I hope she is aware of that, and contrasts it against the words of the other man, this week. That is your effect, Samantha. Not cruelty, but desire, and you are one of the four I speak of (and the most honest expression of desire you'll ever see)

Thanks, darling.

The Show

I've got a slight cold, but enough time to write for a moment, before attending to the first of three training sessions today. I've been asked several times in the last week or so as to the nature of my show (apparently I haven't explained it enough, so I'll attend to it one more time) The narrative is a series of physical monologues, all based upon a bed. The topic is unrequited desire - things that either were, and did not fully come to pass (or things that have not been, or have not been just yet) I felt that since the pieces were of such an intimate nature, rather than stage them in a conventional setting, like a theatre, I felt it was a better idea if I staged it in the bedrooms of the world (which apparently, considering the recent response, is quite a good idea) It's not dance, but theatre, but very physical theatre - the 'choreography' is mostly improvised - the text is the thing, and the body will naturally follow (and I trust myself now as a performer, more than I ever have) I've been able to set up these performances without doing proper publicity, simply because with work, I've had no time. This week, though, is the last full week of work I have for three weeks, and in that three week period, all the publicity will be done, the photoshoots will occur, the press releases will be sent out, and the outreach is going forward, fully. In that time as well, I have the time to commit all text to memory, and prepare the body properly after a long winter, for what is to come in springtime.

This show is not fiction, though the character is the man I aspire to be. The subjects are quite real, and every narrative stanza, is either about a girl I know, or who I have known.

This blog is starting to be read a lot more, I just realized, so I am going to take the time now, to stop talking about myself the next few days, and talk about the women who've inspired it, and each stanza (and this will be the only other space I really speak of it, aside from the stage)

So with that...

Bedlam

I wanted to kiss your lips so badly last night, so much so that I didn't sleep, and I still feel dizzy for it (and I do not care if I burn in hell for the desire)

Silence makes a man admit things, you know.

Because I felt like it.

Training

I have come to understand that all this has to be, is physical narrative, and improvised choreography, so that I am at a point in training where all I have to do, upon the days I have the time (and the leave of absence from work to kick in five shifts from now should provide plenty of such a thing) is simply work up three wild sweats of different natures per day - the weight training of the morning, the afro-brasilian dance of the afternoon, and the intense, meditative motion (the closest I will come to modern) of the night, and throw all notions of specifics out the window. All I want to be at this point is a body in the moment, prepared thoroughly for the moment, and trust my natural instincts as a performer (which have wildly changed since I tested a sample of this piece for a few Montrealers) No more attempting to wedge theatrics in place they may not necessarily be required in. Just know the words, prepare the body, and see what happens (let's face it, the words have now been tested upon enough to know that they are powerful, and the fact that I find it more exciting every day to recite them, than the last, is a positive sign) If you put words like that, with the body that is evolving, in the proper space, you have all the makings for a hundred wild nights in various cities around the world (and when I'm having a day like this, where I truly need to shake the cobwebs out, it's plenty incentive to push forward, and to not stop) And if I require a reminder as to the auxiliary reasons a man prepares his body, I need only look at several conversations and invitations the last while, and understand that not every occurence of my entering a bedroom, will be for performance alone (Unless we are speaking of a different context)

I am a fan of my new unapolgetic nature for who I am (at least I admit I want wildly more than one)

Today is a wonderful day to experiment with training. So off we go to it.

Crawford St.

There was a night, when I was coming home from the Drake Hotel, after a performance not too long ago, where I was walking down Roxton Rd. It was summer, intensely hot, and it must have been past 3:00 am on a Saturday night. It was so quiet, and I was walking up from Dundas to College, and I decided to just walk on the middle of the street. I only mention it because this summer, if you're in the neighbourhood, I would do the same (You will find something very unexpected about the city of Toronto when you do, and let's just say, it was one of my favourite moments I've ever had, walking through the city) But it's best kept a mystery until you do.

Separated by Shaw, there is Crawford St. nearby. It may very well be my favourite street in Toronto (Brunswick, where I had that fabulous apartment/house is a very close second) I mention Crawford because on Friday, while working my job upon that particular street, I not only found generous donors, but found one of my new favourite couples in the city (I can always pop into Supermarket in Kensington if I ever wish to say hello) but I found myself in the unexpected company of another dancer/actor (who happens to write as well) and I am already aware that a collaboration is inevitable (I admit it, I was absolutely charmed in her company, and by her cat) I am looking forward to tea and laughter with this woman, truly (and I need to find out why her house smells so absolutely divine of sandalwood)

Three houses down, later that night, I was given a venue to debut my show in Toronto. It is the perfect place to start this madness - aside from the new friend (a sweetheart of a girl, who is from Paris) who is all for unusual artistic activity, the bed and the bedroom is perfect - we could fit twelve people, tops, within this space, but the bed is low to the ground, and the ceilings are quite high, and the space extremely intimate (And I've learned that when you have very small crowds, a piece like this works best) And they are all strangers, my audience (so they won't be so forgiving, and I love that) She was unable to make a contribution to the cause, but in a job like this, conversation and flirtation is inevitable, at times, and in the midst of both, she learned of my narrative, and simply invited me in, to have a peek at her bedroom (and any bed that is surrounded by drawings and paintings, is a room I want to dance in, eh?)

The concept of performing a piece within people's living areas is still a foreign idea to some. I will explain things thoroughly when the publicity photos are up (and the press release is out)

Later that night, while checking out at work, I was offered another venue (in the span of two hours, I was given the first two places to perform)

So now it's in forward motion. The experiences in Montreal, though, will be quite different (But I will have more on that later)

Montreal, I don't plan on touring from bedroom to bedroom.

(You're coming on over to my place)

A quick note

You realize that it doesn't matter if there is touch or not in any situation (and I find that the expectation of a touch always ruins things - touches just accidentally happen (or at least are the intentional acts, and the accidents are just us stumbling through with each other) Either way, I find the only time I ever come close to playing the violin is when I speak with you, and you should know that it was the very last thing that compelled me to find the instrument again, and relearn it (The guitar is soon to follow) I realized that one of my favourite moments ever, when it comes to music, involved someone we both love, and how instead of playing with the band, he simply struck two notes upon his guitar, raised his fist, and began to sing 'for your bleeding conscience I weep...' and that you reminded me of that simplicity, and that it's the necessary approach for the narrative and wild times ahead, and I'm thankful that you gave me a nudge upon it. The only thing I would ask of you is to maintain a healthy balance between the art and the practical at this moment, because there are truly things ahead for you - wild pleasures beyond even your contemplation, and shared laughter with so many more (or perhaps one, for awhile) I'm not here to sleaze, or to nudge, or to ask, but to remind. Friends remind each other of their own soul, and voice (and staying true to them) So if anything, consider me an equal, let it all be healthy dialogue, and let us always have a cup of tea between us, and laughter.

No restraints, but always respect, and empathy (it's truly the way to go...)

Miss Page

The day that I open up my new dance studio here in Toronto, this is the first individual I am going to invite to my new space (and by invite, I mean I'm going to send her a plane ticket, because it's more fun of a way to make an invitation) It won't be a romantic gesture, nor will it be for a reason that is other than artistic or friendship (though trust, few girls make me weak in the knees, and she is definitely one of them) No, I'll be sending her an invitation, because as far as I'm concerned, this individual (my favourite person in the United States) is an honorary Canadian, and I want to show her the dance scene in Toronto and Montreal (or at least I want to show her to the scene, more like it) She's charming, wonderful, slightly on the darkly perverse side, probably with black humour, no doubt a delightful laugh, and what limited I have seen in dance, I truly like (and more, appreciate) I think this town could use a healthy dose of Miss Page, so she's going to be the first of many artists I plan on bringing here (and if you wonder about the financial viability of such a gesture, I wouldn't worry - I know how to pay the bills for such things, eh?) There's a piece I've been sitting on, besides, for a year and a half (more theatrical than anything) that she gave me an idea for, a long time ago (and I'd love to try it out with her, really) I think this city needs a few fresh, wild voices, so I'm going to be someone who takes it upon his shoulders to invite some of these very necessary artists and lovers to this place, and as far as I'm concerned, she's a lover, and she is very necessary.

Plus I know she has an ego, and I'm in the mood to flatter those with a healthy ego (so you're it for the day, Kimberly...)

Before...

I want you to see my body, as it has been (and it is this that you see in my profile photograph)
Admittedly sexual (oh get over it - it's who I am - I have a semi-pornographic existence, and I'm not going to hide from it whatsoever) I'm not exactly being a saint in the photograph, and I never claimed to be one, nor will I ever apologize for any sins that have come from being a sexual being (but that's another narrative entirely) This is an older photograph, but it's an accurate representation of me physically the last while. I entitle this blog entry as 'before...' because I've felt my physical form changing to suit the character I created for this narrative - a man who I am not just yet (but I so wish to be, and am learning how to become) This particular individual who you've seen in my profile photograph is the beginning of what's coming - this is truly the 'before' version of me. The 'after' you are going to see in three weeks, as I intensify wildly my training and discipline. I won't be starving myself or be in denial - I'll just continue the path of health I've been on, and absolutely dedicate myself now, on this new day, to what it is that I have to do. This show I am doing is a man sliding his hand down his body with a laugh, a sigh and a moan (not in the literal sense, that would be an entirely different show, eh?) He's an arrogant ass, but he backs up his prattling with intense physicality (this character, that is) Well I have been (to paraphrase Ric Flair) BLEEDING, SWEATING, AND PAYING THE PRICE to find myself at this point, and on the cusp of what is to come, I want this ode to masturbation, essentially, to be the final image before you see the 'AFTER...' in three weeks, where yes, there WILL be clothes (my outfit for my show, for that matter) but the individual himself - this character who is far too in love with himself, will debut.

You're going to love and hate him so very much (but you won't be able to take your eyes off of him...)

720

The number that you see above is the amount of repetitions for a very devious exercise, and I've only hit it once (a year ago, around this time) I note it because today I will attempt it (and while severely turned on due to the photographic exploits of someone, thank the stars for women) The change in schedule for my work is already working, because now I can exhaust the moment, and go for it (and trust, today I am going for it) So this will be brief, as I have to return to the meditation.

I just wanted to tell someone who made a request of me via email last night that I will not write a thing (unless she eventually wishes me to) I'll listen, and say nothing, because she is right. That I will read, and it does mean a lot, and that I want a lot more.

Last night, I received a very generous donation (I've heard rumours I'm the best at what I do in my day job, which is quite humbling) During the conversation, while playing with the kids, and laughing with the married couple, I found out that I was talking to a editor of a literary magazine, and that the current issue is writing on dance (and that I should submit something)

This is my life right now.

My Favourite Dancer

I was asked recently about who it was that was my favourite dancer (or dance company) It's a very good question, actually - I've been heavily influenced by so many, when I think about it. I could say for example that it's Bill T. Jones. Bill T. Jones who is responsible for my favourite quote ('You have as much freedom as you are willing to take...') Bill T. Jones, who's work is heavily political (and I would argue, heavily with love) Bill I believe is in his 50's by now (yes, that absolutely divine physical specimen you see is classified in our society as an 'old man...') and if there's anyone who's shown a depth of courage in his life to get to the point of where he is as an artist, it's him. Sometimes I'll wonder about his choreography, and sometimes I'll be absolutely enchanted, but there is no disputing in my eyes that when it comes to choreographers, and dancers, he is one who has given me plenty of inspiration as I've grown as a dancer, and a man.

I could also say Noam Gagnon and Dana Gingras, who are the two that comprise the group Holy Body Tattoo. Their work is primal, and drips with violence and sexuality, where like La La La Human Steps, there's not necessarily a gender definition when it comes to their work - they blur the lines between masculine and feminine, so that there is a known equality between the two forces - they do not choreograph as a man and a woman, necessarily, but two bodies who are equally capable of doing anything the other can do, and I'm a fan of choreography that does blur those lines, where the woman can demonstrate the strength a man can, and where the man is not afraid of such a thing, but begs for it more (trust, there is not enough of work out there for my tastes which dares to do such a thing, and it makes for boring choreography when it comes to this particular country) Perhaps that's another story, but if these two come to your town, make it a point to see their work (or find yourself a copy of 'Poetry And Apocalypse' and you'll see for yourself)


I could speak of Grupo Corpo. Primal, physical, and so full of joy (they do not come to Toronto enough, but when they do, I am always there to see this wild company from Brazil) Every single aspect of their dance is full of joy, and colour, and sensuality, it's hard to not be enchanted with them (and it's quite difficult to take your eyes off of their movement, and you'll find that after two hours, you'll wonder where the time went, because they'll make you feel like you just experienced a moment (and you'll be absolutely craving for more, without a doubt)












Or we could go with my current fixation, and that being Fin Walker, who expands beyond the boundaries of Holy Body Tattoo (who also has choreographed mainstream hits like Equus) Fin who absolutely dares to dive into the human soul, and explore the violence and love within. I love this woman's work so very much, that if you asked me if I could let go of my solo work, and work with one choreographer on this planet, without a doubt
it would be her, because I know that even with my two bad knees, this
woman would find a way to bring out the absolute best in my body, and
dare and push me to my limits and beyond, and that at the end of the experience, I would be a better dancer, and a better man, and a better writer, and a better lover for it. I've seen her work live once, and the rest of the time it's been either press clippings, or sporadic clips online, and everything I've seen I've absolutely loved, and I hope that one day in my life, if I ever get to work with one individual on this planet, regardless of how old I am, I truly hope it's her.

These are a few of my favourite dancers, truly, and though the images are dynamic, they don't do justice to how truly wild and unique all their individual voices are. It's not to diminish those I've seen before - whether it is a La La La Human Steps, or companies in town like The Chimera Project or Toronto Dance Theatre, or anything you'll see in Tangente or Studio 303 in Montreal (Montreal who has people like a Sarah Williams or a Jose Navas) I don't single out four and say these are the absolutes - I use them as reference points for what is coming in there here and now - Holy Body Tattoo, who in their finest moments, are linear, with an understood physicality (and my show is heavy on the linear, especially when it comes to the physical) Bill T. Jones, who incorporates a lot of narrative text in his work, and blurs the line between performer and audience (a dancing monologue, which is again, the nature of my show) Or Grupo Corpo, who's joy of just being on a stage and moving, is infectous (and a reminder that no matter the nature of the physical, this is still dance, and we are dancers, regardless of the nature of the choreography (meaning we best have fun doing what we do, and my show is definitely going to be fun to perform) And Fin Walker, who explores desire, and the nature of human interaction, and delivers wild, sensual work (and trust, I know that when I hit that level, this show will definitely qualify as wild, and sensual)

But if you ask me again, who it is, that is my favourite dancer, I will simply point you to the photograph below.



This is my favourite dancer in the planet. And though I will never be able to train her properly in something I think she would have loved, or create her a solo (or even a duet) I will say without a doubt, that in the here and now, when it comes to influences upon my work, I can only speak to what she did do for my soul (something I am quite thankful for) And though I am now entering the stage of genuine anger as to why something in friendship fell apart (Truly, I still haven't been given a reason, and I doubt I will hear one) I can't deny the influence, and in a time where I keep hearing in the news about 'speaking to the better angels within us,' etc. I'm going to try to not be angry at not knowing, or having no idea why, and just stick with the influence, and appreciate it, and then like any art, take what you're influenced by, and build upon it. That girl, no matter the circumstance, I think would wish me to do so - to be better than I've been, and to push my choreography, and my voice, and my daring, beyond what it has been.

It's interesting that as I enter a new phase in my life, where I have all the resources in the world to achieve what I wish to (I have enough, trust) and in a time where my body has become far wilder, and healthier, than it has ever been - that on the cusp of greatness (and trust, I see it on the horizon) she is no longer there. I miss her, and I miss that influence, and I miss that laughter, but in a couple of weeks I'm going to be singing to the masses, and though she's not part of it in the immediate, I'd rather not be bitter, or sad, but just love what she did for me, and love how much I grew as a person, and an artist. I'd rather take that energy, and pour it into myself, or into sarahjane, or any of my other collaborators.

I only regret that she's unrealized potential. But I have faith in her. I believe in that girl, and I'll know she'll find her way. And it's a crazy world - though I could be fatalistic and say our paths will never cross, I get this odd feeling that one day, I'm going to turn a corner, and she'll be there, laughing, and happy.

Until then, we'll keep moving, forward.

(Three weeks until opening day...)

A Good Week

It was a good week, without a doubt. The deep freeze settled into the city, and having a job where you're outside for six hours of the day, three days of the week, is not exactly the easiest thing to have, but it was truly a wild adventure. I don't know why, but I'm falling in love with this city again, and I don't think it's because the citizens of Toronto are rewarding my faith in their genorosity by making contributions to the cause (or at least it is simply not that) Maybe it was the decision to build here (a decision which a lot of people are happy about, and I'm grateful for that) Or it could be that the simple changing of my schedule to Monday, Wednesday and Friday has found me well rested for every shift (and trust, if I'm well-rested, there's no limit to what I can do, whether it is with this job, or in my art) All I know is that on Friday, the coldest day of the year, I was outside and I couldn't stop laughing. Wind Chill burning through my body and I was simply laughing throughout my entire shift (however long it did last) Maybe I just figured out something - of how I can make this truly home, and because of that, I have a lot more opportunity to stretch out beyond these particular borders, because I finally decided to settle here. Montreal is still there (and as I said previously, I will be there a lot every single year as long as I'm alive) but the crucial thing is that I am more here than I ever was. There is something to that idea which I am still learning of, and I don't know what will come of this understanding, but what I do know is that I love the feeling. And this show only needs two months of physical transformation (which, my rescheduling, has further compelled) I've waited this long, so I don't mind a couple of more weeks, and with my decision to stay, I may not leave my job fully just yet (I can take a week off here, and a week off there indefinitely) The fact that every single day when I go out to work, I don't have to worry about coming into work the next day, has absolutely freed me. I can go out dancing, or find sarahjane and work with her, or sit in my favourite hangouts and write and find strangers and lovers and old friends, and not worry about the time I will be coming home, because the next day I have plenty of time to sleep, and plenty of time to train (and it is so much easier of a thing to train, and to love, when you are paying your bills on time, and saving up plenty for the madness ahead) Yes, it was a good week, most definitely (and I can't wait to get started on the next one...)

Hit Midnight Already

I was having a good day and night, but it's been progressively getting worse as the hours have passed (and not in a fatalist sense - it's merely one of those nights) so I'm waiting for the clock to strike midnight, and then I'll attend to another session of training (the first two of the day have actually been quite good - I'm surprised considering the lack of sleep that I had last night) It's been a crossed-frequency day, where a lot of communication I could indulge in with others has been more around rather than direct (like we're just not clicking tonight when it comes to expression) The dead of winter, and this oncoming deep freeze prevents me from running outside screaming (I would, but I spend three days a week in this kind of weather, and trust, it keeps me wishing for the inside where it's warm and where there's room to move) I'm taking the evening as a sign that even though I've progressed in the body the last few days (I've noticed the change, thankfully) I may wish to focus a little more tomorrow, before I return to the streets of Toronto (I know precisely what that means, so I know what Tuesday is to be) That audible sigh you heard was me - I've actually made progress today, but there's always room for more, and less of what was today. I'm not really a dancer any more - I'm a monologuer who happens to dance, or a physical actor who can do a little afro-brasilian and contemporary, or a very good talker with a few moves you'll like to watch, and maybe it is quite possible to just be this new man, and no longer worry about having to prove something. I have nothing to prove, just a lot to show. So today, for the most part, was moving in that direction of showing, and the few hours in the night was merely a little storm. Midnight is about 45 minutes away, and I'll start the new day with a little sweat, and prepare things for tomorrow's adventure (Tomorrow has that potential for adventure) I would continue with this entry, but I think a cup of tea, a little juice, and something lovely to snack upon is required before attending to the sweat. I miss Maia more today than I did yesterday. But I'm glad I do - if I'm going to miss someone, she's a good soul to miss.

I won't exactly dry up like a raisin in the sun, or fester like a sore, and then run, eh?

Calmer.

I'm quite impressed with the universe. It seems as one door closed, several opened up. It began on the day I wrote the last post, when I found myself at the end of a work shift (well, a few minutes before it's conclusion) in a lineup for tea, at the meeting spot, when I overheard a girl speaking to a barista, and I made a casual comment (without knowing what she looked like) about how I'd do her essay for her, but I was a dancer. And she turned around with a laugh because she used to be one as well, and fifteen minutes later we were new friends, working together, with the potential for something great, regardless of the affiliation. Yesterday was more of the same, and suddenly the one door I thought would truly never close (I still feel let down, frankly, but it will pass) has unexpectedly resulted in a lot of new. Perhaps it was also my decision to stay here (still performing in Montreal, and I think as the days pass I'll feel less bitter, so the city will still see a lot of me (probably still 4-5 months out of the year if I can swing it) I think there was something powerful in finally recognizing that this is home. I felt it while standing on Indian Crescent here in the west end, on the porch of a retired gentlemen (a generous donor, as it turned out) We spoke of Toronto on that very chilly evening, and in talking with him, I realized truly how much I actually loved this place. Actually loved it. I've seen every street I could build a studio upon in this city, and truly, though I love the spirit of Montreal, there are just so many more neighbourhoods in this city that are full of life, and as Danny Grossman told me, in that Tim Hortons two months ago (paraphrasing) 'This city needs more people like you, staying here...' He's right, and that's not arrogant to say. He's just right - there were things I used to do in this city, and it's time to do them again (on a higher level) Most of it organizing wild events, but this time in my space (and though it will cost a lot more, the price will be worth it) Besides, if that girl ever understands that life is better with my friendship than without, then she may require an escape from that town (and I've always said that if she ever needs shelter, she will have it with me) So I'm good.

As for the women in Montreal, I can only tell you this - I will be there often, but there are other issues we have presently, which I'll talk about on another day, when I'm not so occupied with trying to learn more about how to use this new camera, and the details of my show, which continue to be clarified.

To the day we go.

Draw This.

Draw This.

I'm Not Satisfied...

I lost the person I am closest to on this earth last night, and I'm not happy about it at all. It would be one thing if I'd been evil or unfeeling or unkind to her, but I've been the exact opposite of such a thing for three years. Three years. And it was only days ago where during what must have been a weak moment, where I heard something to the effect of 'I need you to come here and take care of me...' I find it quite interesting that whenever things truly go to hell in her world, she sees fit not to lose the assholes, or the people who are particularily unkind to her, but she loses me (this is not the first time, though it has a lot more grave of a tone) I'm not even talking of something romantic, but I feel as if I've been dumped, and in this particular case, there was not even the courage to actually say it to me, but do such a thing electronically. I don't know why, but it seems like a rather cowardly thing to do, and the thing is, the last thing this girl is, as far as I'm concerned, is a coward. She isn't, and I'll never think her one, but in this case, when it comes to me, I can't figure out why she would be one (perhaps she knows that if it was via voice, or face to face, she wouldn't be able to do what she did) Now things are unresolved, and unknown, and she has done to me what countless others have done to her. And when there was wreckage (and there was plenty) there was no other to step on in and be there. I was there. I was always there. I was always the one to support, to be strength, to reassure, and to love. I was the constant throughout plenty and I'm still here. In the last message I heard, I heard things were even worse than they were before, and I wonder if she realizes that it's only got worse since she let this go (it's been coming for a couple of weeks, this kind of silence) Maybe, just maybe, when hell goes down, you should try and rely on the one true friend you've had, and not run from them. I didn't sleep well last night, and I doubt I'll sleep well for days, but if there is one thing - one single thing - that will come from this, it's the fact that if I required any more motivation or bite to what I'm about to present, it was just provided to me. She is, after Laura and Sam, the concluding part. The fourth chamber to the heart, the last stanza. And though she won't be there to see it, I plan on walking into my other hometown of Montreal, stepping on the largest stage I can find, and performing wildly what it is that is felt. And then I'm walking away from that town, because after losing this girl - my best friend - I no longer have a desire to live in that city anymore.

On to the day.

Clothing Optional...

This is the first image I took of my body last year. Contrary to what may appear obvious, I'm not exactly doing anything in particular to my form (I'm merely covering up what is there, shh) It was taken on a day after I had worked a very long shift outside, and naturally, if you take photographs of yourself naked, you're probably feeling a little on the sensual or sexual side. In this case, it was a day before a life-drawing class where I was posing as a model (yes, naked) and I definitely needed a confidence boost (those who know me are familiar with the image) I would say my body has improved since then, but that's not a statement of vanity, really. It's more a statement of comfort, and something I learned from two contrasting moments of dance outside the last few days. One was new year's eve, where I was unrestrained, without clothing - essentially my favourite pair of white AA boys shorts (they are a godsend of comfort and sex) And I danced quite wild - as I usually do in my space. Contrast that against the Christmas Party for work, where I was dancing on a floor with others, and received a couple of nice compliments on my dancing , but it was so difficult to be weighted down (I'm being completely serious, shut up) Shoes or socks or hell, even pants felt like too much. And I understand that the reality is, I'm going to be like this for the rest of my life - I'm eventually going to get old, but I'm still going to be healthy, and in wild enough shape that I can still make my existence clothing option (don't be offended by the image, incidentally - it's just a body, eh?) I'm laughing at the fact that my show, and this character, is going to evolve and run for so long, I may be spending the next two years in those shorts for the better part of that time, and it makes me happy, because frankly, I am quite sick of clothes, and I am working under protest starting tomorrow (I return to my practical job for a few weeks) I will wear the layers (It'll look quite good, I assure you - I'm very much on the stylish tip - I'll take photos of THAT soon) but I will treat the running around from door-to-door as a training exercise, and the moment I get home from work, the clothes will come off, the shorts will go on, and I'll end the day the way I was meant to - dancing (and dancing with little on) I remember the first accusation Maia every made to me 'You, sir, are a NUDIST...' but I wouldn't go that far just yet. I more like comfort, and I like feeling sexy, and it doesn't have to necessarily be about sleaze all the time, eh? So I think this city should give me more gigs like the ones I had New Year's Eve, or I may just have to open a club where every night is pajama dancing (I tell you, it WILL catch on...) Either way, when I open my studio in the late summer, leave your shoes (and the rest of what you have on) at the door...

Afro-Brasilian?

I've had an interesting few days - some have put up walls, and not for bad reasons (it's either been 'I don't know if my boyfriend will like this but I love it...' or a case where there are things to discuss with me that cannot be discussed now - I love that, incidentally - I wonder if now is not a right time to discuss things, then when is, eh?) I would take offence but then someone who's had a wall up for months told me that the reason why she didn't want to talk to me was because I'd hold up a mirror to her, and she knew that, and didn't want to see herself, because she knew I would make her (it was quite complimentary, actually) I was told a long time ago that I'm very intense, and I don't plan on changing that at all - personally I think it's a western hesitancy, and that if you dropped me in Paris or Amsterdam, I'd be just fine, and just right. Either way, though a lot of words haven't been said, I've seen the odd sentence come from the odd mouth which has let me know that whatever wall has been up, it's slowly coming down. Patience is easier when you see signs of daylight, and though I'm not exactly bathing on a beach in Brazil, it definitely feels like a spring jaunt through Philosopher's Walk at the moment. Maybe part of that is a return to the afro-brasilian meditation in dance, where now my training is starting to settle out in a strong way, and perfectly aligned with the fact that I do have to return to work on Wednesday (though really, is walking through the streets of Toronto in wintry bliss really that hard, if your feet and head and the rest of your body are warm?) It may get tough, and a little rough in January, but I'm still walking the path, moving foward, and I'm reminded that spring is not too far away. My job as an artist is not too far away either, so again, it's a good time to be patient, and not worry too much about matters of the heart - if one does what they are capable of, these things just find a way of taking care of themselves.

Mmm, tea.

I Spent The New Year...

...in another town, dancing in a hilarious space with music and good company, clad in very little, with a body free and open and laughter and irony, and when the clock struck midnight, I was bathed in sweat, and happy, with the taste of salt on my lips that was replaced by an unexpected kiss from a new friend, with the sounds of old David Bowie played by the dj (I'm quite sure that I'm a boy and not a girl) and the first thing to hit my lips in the aftermath was a cold bottle of water that never tasted so good, for something that has no taste. As I write this I'm learning more about this new camera I picked up (I think I chose wisely) in a newly-reconfigured space made for new disciplines in dance(?) Is this really dance or is it a martial art or meditation? Whatever it is, it suits the upcoming narrative, and it's the right preparation for this character (and the right thing for me, really) Patience is required, and patience for myself I'll have. Today I'll pick up a paycheque (hopefully) and there will be more writing to do, and I'm about to do the first session of the day. Upon the 2nd day of this year, I would say that my body feels like it needs a few of the cobwebs wiped away, but I'll attend to that. It's cold in Toronto, but aside from one or two days the last couple of weeks, it's been cold for awhile, but now that we're in January, I can say that we only have about what, 78 days or so until the first day of spring? (Seems not so far away, suddenly) If there is one thing I'd say about myself is that I don't want conditionally, and where most desire is something to indulge in because of boredom or because 'it's there, so I'll have it...' I would say that at this point, everything that I feel is precise - I know what I want, and who I want, and it's good to be aware of such things, and then just work. Work which I love. Work which will not be distracted by my practical work, which begins again next week for four more weeks, and then I'll be an unemployed artist once more - an unemployed artist with a show, and the practical resources to pull it off. So as I sit here this morning, I would just tell you that as years go, 2009 is starting out just fine, thank you.

To the day we go.

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.

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.

Structure

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.

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.

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?

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.

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?)

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.