Madness

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

You can let go now.

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

But not now.

Maddy pt. 4

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

I wish I could kiss your chest right now.

Maddy pt. 3

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

I get it.

Maddy pt. 2

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

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

Maddy

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

It matters to me, Maddy.

Dizzy

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

So have it.

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

Pay Attention

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

Now, back to our normal writing.

Last Night

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

To Toronto we go.

3964 rue st. denis

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

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

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

Montreal - Day 1.

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

Maia

I do not know if we will see each other when I'm in your town upon Monday (it's alright if we don't, I'm going to be in that town of yours a lot the next few months) You should know, though, that I'll be disappointed that on such a beautiful time of the year, the early part of June, my favourite time to spend in that city of yours, Montreal, I won't be sitting across from you at a table sipping on tea and laughing at how useless, it appears, any fears or misgivings were. Yes, there are, no doubt, things that are unsaid upon our lips that if we were to speak them, would cause a little bedlam, but one of the great things about art is that it affords you the opportunity to speak without actually opening your mouth, and that the things unsaid sometimes will not be spoken as a word, but more of a whisper, or something within choreography, or narrative monologue. Art lets us hide. It's like burying yourself in a warm blanket with someone, and the experience between performer and audience is an intimate one - 'it was like they were speaking to me, and me alone...' (But you'll know that it was the truth when the show starts, I think) I do know that if in the last month, specifically the last days of April, if I were to speak the words that came to me, I wouldn't have found this thread of narrative (nor the strength to dare to actually say it, cause it has to be said, and I've become quite good at the unspeakable)



I always carry around cigarettes in your town, in case a beautiful girl asks me for a smoke.

Seven days.

Seven days until Montreal. I love what is happening to me in Toronto, but I seriously need to get out of town as soon as possible, and steal away to Montreal. Through the generosity of one good friend, I'll have my own apartment for seven days, at the corner of st. denis and duluth, and I have every intention of making this a working vacation. Whatever mysterious illness I've had upoon my legs is not within my blood - if anything, I had bloodwork done for everything from HIV to calcium levels to everything else, just to eliminate the possibilities of what this could be, and everything turned out 'clean...' as the doctor said (which is such a horrible word on other levels - I didn't like the usage cause it would imply that others are 'dirty...') But I understand the implication - I'm healthy, and that's wonderful. Perhaps it's a new reaction to chemotheraputic cream, or some new skin disorder, but whatever the case, the biopsy is tomorrow, the session in front of U ot T medical students soon after, but there are no worries on that level, and now that there are not, the mind is clearing up. This trip, and this show, are a priority. I've settled into my new role at the practical job quite well (I've actually become a better leader, and fundraiser, and suddenly have found myself to be quite a teacher when it comes to training others) There is no intellectual contemplation required as to how I can be better because in those hours that I work, I simply learn how to be. No distractions, and no excuses any more, and I need to get out of this town and figure out just what the hell this show is to be, and come back to Toronto with clarity, and everything intact, so that I can start performing here (and return to Montreal one month later, to perform it further)

My voice got stronger, the body more daring, while I went through this. I haven't had time to properly realize just what this means, and seven days from now, I'll have that opportunity (I just have to be elsewhere, to understand it properly)

I wonder where Maia is.

The Loss of a Left Leg.

I wouldn't say I've been particularily unlucky the last while. I accepted a promotion at work (I've been turning it down for a year and a half because I didn't want it to interfere with my creative work) I took the promotion because it was on my terms, and I simply felt it time for a little more progression. Now, I'm in a new phase of evaluation that prevents the actual pay increase, but once I get through it, that retroactive pay shall be very delightful (and truthfully, I'm enjoying the new responsibility) Unfortunately, two weeks into the promotion I suffered a major infection in my left leg, and rashes all over both. The initial thinking was a staph infection/cellulitis, but after further consultation, I apparently have a mystery on my hands. This mystery has not only caused a cosmetic damage to my legs, but my left leg internally suffered some major damage - septic arthritis being one result, and the others as well, still a mystery (I hope to find out more on Tuesday) You have to look at an infection as something that will continue to do damage, the longer it goes untreated (makes perfect sense, eh?) The antibiotics I was on have run out, and I'm still in pain (I've been told that's a natural result even after infection goes down - pain will be present for awhile) The left knee, which already had major problems, now has even more complications, and I have intense pain from my inner thigh down to the outer part of my left ankle. Simply, it hurts. I'm not feeling like an old man, but I'm limping around a little bit like one. A couple of days into this infection, there was even the possibility that if things continued the way they were, I would lose it. As it stands now, I won't lose the limb literally, but I've lost a lot of it for the moment, and I've been told that depending upon the damage, it may simply never be the same.

Having said all that, I'm still alive. Though my left leg has damage, the rest of me feels strong. I have no intention of stopping my show, or my trip to Montreal. The biopsy on the rashes is a few days before the trip (You can't exactly cut into a man when he has an infection) Though I know circumstances with my left leg will force me to adapt to circumstances, and that I may never walk or dance properly again, I'm still an optimist, and when I was lying in bed with that fever for a few days, I vowed that when I got stronger, I would go to places I've never been, whether it's the discipline in the art, or geographical. You have to understand that once you go through the pain of what I went through, you lose your fear of it, and when you lose your fear of it, you become dangerous, in the best of ways. I feel it today, that even though it was one rough period of time to get through (and even though I'm still in it) I'm strong enough to still work up a sweat, and the voice is even more precise than it ever was.

I also know that there is a decision to make, when it comes to the heart, and that I made it, against my will. I'll stay purposely cryptic. The most I can say is that my show will say everything, and be it with one leg or two, I'm still moving forward.

So where have you been (and where are you going?)

I loved my silence. So many things I have done the last while (and so much more to do) The show is ready, the body is stronger than it's ever been, and the heart is ready. I am intentionally delaying things now until my trip to Montreal in the second week of May (There are things in that city I require attending to, and I don't mind the exercising of patience considering the other pleasant aspects to life at the moment) I'm toying with my camera but I'm waiting until I get to Montreal to truly photograph things for this show (which is now entitled 'Arrogant Little Fuck...') So much of my show is tied to there, I realized, so that it only makes sense to use the trip partially as a way of documentation for my activities in Toronto and Montreal all summer with this narrative. It changed a lot in the silence, and maybe that's because I did in the time in between entries. You've got to wait a long while sometimes for certain narratives to evolve, whether it is in actual text, or in performance, or just in the human heart (I had a transition in the latter, and it affected the former two) I'm looking so forward to Montreal, and the fact that I've finally accepted the promotion at home for my job (it was inevitable - I love my part-time job, but I need a challenge with it to keep it fresh) means my finances, unless something unexpected occurs, will be in order (so no bus for me - I'm taking the train, and I'm going to rent myself someplace nice in Montreal to stay in for a few days) There are more than a few people I wish to see on my first journey into Montreal this summer (trust, it won't be the last - I'll be coming back to perform a few times) but more, it's a reward for surviving winter, for finding my dance again, and for the strength that I've shown through everything that I've been through, to come to this place where every aspect of me is glowing again. I'm not a fan of unnecessary self-critical behaviour, because it's the worst kind of abuse because you are ultimately in control of it, even with environmental circumstances, be it the people or surroundings that you have to deal with day upon day. Now I'm not saying I was far too hard on myself at all, but what I am saying is that whatever faults I may have picked upon, I suddenly see no reason to be so evil towards the self, cause frankly, I look and I feel far too good to indulge in such an exercise. So here we are, on a day when it's downright hot in Toronto, about to attend to another session of dance, and then a few more pleasant errands outside, before I return, write a few people letters of 'Hello...' and go for one more spin on the dance floor.

I think, though, I will reward myself next weekend, and indulge in a little photographic narcissism (Trust, I've got better since you've last seen me...)

Slow It Down

I am so glad that I remembered to slow it down (just in time for spring) You see, sometimes you can train a little too fast, and when you do, you lose the subtlety in motion, and things are far too exhausting (and not enough of pleasure) The last two days the sweat has been far more delicious, and I see the clock and I know I will attend to things again, presently. It's a good thing that I haven't worked so much the last couple of weeks (more due to illness than anything) I found my swagger again, though. I just decided to not be so loud, and approach things a little more quietly, because I remembered that a person who talks less and simply does more is the kind of individual I'm always trying to be (I don't always get it right, mind you) So if the dance I am on to, suddenly presents the results I am expecting (You don't really need to be surprised all the time, though, by the way) then I have a feeling that the swagger may become at once quieter, and a lot more pronouced, and with the promise of such a thing, I'm crossing my fingers, sliding on my shorts, and I'm going to see what happens...

Manic Coffee & Montreal?

I was at this lovely place yesterday. It's on College St. and it's named Manic Coffee, near Bathurst (it's a little more decorated now, since this photograph) It was the first time since the old Tequila Bookworm that I felt so at ease in a cafe to not only write, but to talk to strangers (and have them talk to me, without prodding) All this place needs are a few books upon shelves that do not exist, a couple of couches at the back, and a later closing time, and I'd be in heaven. It's been around for a year and a half, or so, but Sunday was the first opportunity I had to actually enter (and I am so glad I did) I swear, I know there will never be another Tequila, but at least I found a place to settle in and actually write more than a few words (and it came upon the heels of a wild day of dancing)

I'm in Montreal in 3-4 weeks. It will be an amusing experience (that's a nod to one of you in particular, I love that word 'amusing...') I'm in the best shape I've been in ages suddenly (god, it's so good to find the dance you love, and stop attempting to be someone you're not, and expanding upon that base) I have that weird 'it's so warm, my body wants to take a nap' feeling that only spring can give, and I realize that when I arrive in Montreal to perform, I don't know if Maia will be there (I have a feeling she will be, and I hope she's alright) I already have a feeling that even though Carolynn inspired the 30 days of wild, she won't be observing the narrative (You should know, if you are still reading this, that I wanted to tell you that i hold no grudge, I truly think you're beautiful, and you can know me if you wish to, be it now or ten years from now, love) Sam will be working down the street from me, and I think I may be able to entice her into a cup of tea, and Sarah? Well, I think she'll have one wild laugh at stanza #2 (I know you're coming, darling - you're courageous like that) The show I bring to Montreal will be observed by an audience made up of 99 percent of strangers (just the way I wanted it) and though the title and the emotion behind it has changed (You see, somewhere in the last fifteen days of afro-brasilian dance, I lost my longing, and found my resolve) I'm still just plain old happy that here I am, looking through classified ads for a place to stay for a couple of weeks (I pray that one space comes through, and oh my fucking god I have a little perfection on my hands) I'm not sick. My legs are scarred, but they are good, and I'm sleeping well again (touch wood) Somewhere in all that dancing I let go of a little something, and I don't miss it whatsoever, and god, that took a lot, you know.

Hey, you should come on out.

(I put on a good show)

596 Minutes

Nine days in and my body has undergone dramatic transformations, and not via starving myself or a lack of nutrition (This is the healthiest I've ever been in reshaping, and it feels so good, I really don't want to stop) It is happening even while the seizures have returned, and the cancer treatment has caused some nasty infections to my legs (which have healed, but now it appears I'll have scarring and discoloration to live with, but I'm fine with that) I slept little last week and yet here I am, in nine days, with 596 minutes of intense afro-brasilian dancing in that time (An hour a day of this in spite of everything else, aside from other training, hospital visits, an overnight stay or two, and my job) You have to understand that this kind of dancing has no artistic merit whatsoever. It's not choreography, or a specific thought being expressed, but pure sensuality and desire and joy, and really, maybe that is ultimately all that matters. I am thinking about kissing someone wild, and I know she is thinking of me in a similiar fashion, and I am content with not having that kiss at the moment, 'cause there definitely is more work to do (but that work will take me to her, or at least her to my doorstep, I am sure (perhaps?) It seems whether it's scar tissue on the brain, or scars upon my legs, or scars of the heart being revealed, I'm fine with all of them, because the end result is a man who can now afford this piece of run-down property on the Mile End (I don't have to buy it just yet, and if I lose it, there are others to take it's place) and a show starting on April 9th. If silly little girls wish to be silent, men will move forward, and on, and though bone is on bone in my left knee, I can still move in a way that some cannot. A gallery will put up some art by a man indirectly related to this narrative, and a girl will drink a little wine, and look at the door, waiting for me to walk in (Thank you for that inside bit of information, you know who you are) The reality is, in the 596 minutes of the last nine days of dancing (and trust, I've been physical in other ways beyond that, and will continue to be so) I seem to have found my core desire, and lost that selfishness. We don't have to fuck, but I know now you wouldn't mind lying in a bed with me for a long while, and have us devour each other's mouths until the sun rises. You don't have to take your clothes off, or show me more of your body, but I'd like to hear what you have to say, and more of what you feel than even how (in the literal) you feel. Maybe we can take a long walk and you can tell me about what you dream of, instead of my simply wanting to taste your sex (which I won't lie, I want to, but I don't have to do it now) Maybe I should just remember that though it feels like spring, it's not spring yet, and that I can wait for the season to turn, and start enjoying more the days leading up to it, rather than the actual event.

You can proceed with chemotherapy, and the potential brain surgery. The reality is, even with all of my many sins and perversions and the things I lack, I'm now fine.

100 Minutes

In the last two days I've done a hundred minutes of a style of dance I have not done, in months. I do not think it coincidence that suddenly, even in a deep chill of winter once again, that the sun appears warmer on the body, and that I feel so much stronger than even a mere two days ago. 100 minutes of really ripping up the floor and suddenly that energy that was before winter, has returned again (I just love that I actually have the financial resources as well to harness that particular energy in a more practical manner, at the moment) The possibility exists tonight that I may go for another fifty of this particular discipline (which was only one of three different kinds of practices today) I'll have to learn to do two things before I head off to work on Wednesdays to Fridays (But I believe this new strength, and the changing season will help that discipline) I feel strong, and stripped down again, and the narrative is quite basic (both in the show, and the life) Spring, though it be a dastardly wind chill, is coming, whether old man winter likes it or not.

As for desire, I've decided to not worry about it. Too many other things to do, to pay attention to those who say they want (and yet do not show it)

I am worthy of a display. Period.

No matter. In days everything will begin, and I have a feeling that the display I put on, will at least inspire others to match.

(Perhaps even you)

Fusing Narratives

I've been tempted to delete those last two entries, but I'll leave them there. Whatever intense (and somewhat necessary) selfishness has passed. I think that kid stomping up and down going 'What's in it for me?' has decided to be quiet. As I was expressing to someone in my life late last night, I trust the circumstances evolving in my life (or at least, I really should) So you may hear less of the angry young man and a little more of the calm, assured, and meditative (at least I truly hope so) It's early in the morning and I am returning back to work today. I will be going door-to-door once again (getting into many adventures, no doubt - being in Roncesvalles for the next couple of weeks should be quite a treat, I hope) I remember working that particular neighbourhood for ACT (AIDS Committee of Toronto) and the community response was marvelous (so I hope it is for this campaign, fingers crossed) It will be quite interesting to see if I can now balance work with what is to come, so I'm looking forward to returning. I see the sun shining and god I wish it was hot, really. You have no idea how weary these bones feel at wintertime, and the fact that in the last nineteen days I got into this kind of shape with the cobwebs hanging upon me is a great thing. Greater things though, lie ahead. I have to do a better job of keeping that in mind over the next month, and I'm glad that I've decided to wait just a little longer to perform (Hey, trust, this body needs springtime) As the narrative of work and art will fuse, so is the actual narrative itself, between word and body, and stanzas are starting to collapse, and this is really just a 'fade in, fade out...' show now. I am glad it is, really. I am glad I found a way to end things. Hell I'm glad that in this economy, I actually have a great job for the now, and that if this studio is to be built in Toronto, I get to walk around for the next couple of weeks, in the neighbourhood in which I think it will end up (There is a wild street here with a lot of potential, and I think after work I'll go take another walk to see it) Anyways, the day is ahead, so this entry is at a conclusion.

Time to get to work, anyways.

If Words Aren't Enough...

I've calmed down in the last few days? (That would be a colossal lie) I would say more that it is important to approach certain matters with a little rational behaviour. I can break silence because photography has started (Though I think I'll wait for a bit of time to post what is evolving, because it is turning into it's own narrative) Looking the part has now become even more crucial, which is why I've backed the starting date to the beginning of April (for other reasons as well, mind you) Isabelle and I will get together in a few days to figure out the show, as will I visit Samantha (I know a lot of individuals named Samantha, you know) to sort out when her event will take place. Brutal physical behaviour does a few things to a man. So does bleeding. So does a lot of longing.

On a random aside, and something I won't make common knowledge, save to the people who read this blog (and my boss) my skin cancer has returned to my legs, so this week a determination will be made as to how to deal with this, and to make sure there is nothing else wrong (I have faith there is nothing else wrong, so I'm not worried) I was looking at my legs and how fucked up they truly look right now, understanding that treatment will only make them worse (to the point where I am thinking I should wear those scars during the show, rather than cover them up)

Wear those scars. Vulnerability (That word again) That word has complicated things, and altered narrative. That and understanding that my words are not enough. They are not. They are powerful, and I love singing them, and they are not enough, so yes, I've pushed my show back because I need to adapt to the immediacy of the circumstances.

I am starting to think I attract passive lovers. You know, one of the things I'm quite good at (and proud of such a distinction I am) is that I truly have the stamina to endure any kind of fucking. And that I can do things with my mouth besides the obvious that few men truly can do (I am going to start believing it, because it's been said to me several times in twelve months, so excuse me for the momentary arrogance - I believe it now) One of those things is talk. I talk and I give and I talk and I give and you lie back and you take it ('You' being the collective wealth of women I've known in the last year) You remind me of a dancer I once knew, who's bed was more a performance stage where she would simply undress, lie back, and take waves of pleasure for hours and for days and when it came time to give, she failed at it (and trust, I'm not the hardest man to give pleasure to) I am inspiring, and I've made you come several times one way or another over days or weeks or months, and I am still waiting. Waiting (Do I have the tone of voice of a man who is pleased with waiting?)

I can wait. Give me something to tide me over and I can wait. Otherwise I am starting to feel uninspired to make the effort (and that is not specific to anyone - that is as general of a statement as there can be)

You know, it's still happening, even before touch. I give and I give and it's now expected. It's the norm. You want, and you desire, but the understanding has to be that in order for me to believe in desire, I require something more than 'wow...'

If words are not enough in my life, why would I assume they would be enough in narrative? (And so, that understanding changes everything) Why would I assume that a show based in longing and want that uses words is enough to speak to what I feel?

It isn't.

So that will change a few things. You'll get me in the bed. You will have your 'A Love Supreme...' You will have your song, and your longing, and your desire (but to say the least, changes to the narrative are taking place, as profound to the changes of my body, and of my heart)

Do not expect me, though, to be a selfless man anymore. I'm tired of it. I will give and I will give and give again.

You meet me halfway.

(That's the deal)

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...)