Threshold

You hit a point, and then you have to attend elsewhere. You come close and you can feel the burn, and then you realize you have somewhere else to be, and you leave. You know you are close, and that there's a level of understanding and balance to achieve, yet you're always pulled in another direction, and you don't really have that extra ten or twenty minutes to spare. Days and then weeks and months pass, and you find yourself believing that what you do is enough, and all the while the voice gets a little quiet, and quieter, and before you know it, you're one step away from silent, and those obligations are quite loud, to the point of deafening.

And then you have a day where you don't surrender to the obligation, and you simply make the choice to keep moving, and you hit a level you have not been in ages, and suddenly everything changes.

I am so there now.

Hey Jenn

I wanted you to know what I was up to tonight. Things have been building creatively - I think I'm finally starting to move ahead in things, and being smarter and healthier about how I'm working in the practical, and that Saturday afternoon coffee at Ideal with Helen which sparked one idea of choreography, has sparked some further things when it comes to our collaboration. I want you to know that the greatest gift a partner could give another is space and time, and there's no one else on this planet who understands that more about me, than you. So if you're wondering what I'm up to tonight, I'm going over notes for our first piece together - it's taken a little while due to my creative inactivity and your imprisonment, but I've finally seen an idea evolving involving us. It's going to be quite demanding on you - as a narrative it'll force you to become part photographer and part dancer, and that means a parallel physical transformation where you're really going to have to method act - you're going to find yourself thinning and leaning and emptying out while getting stronger and harder and more fierce, and it is a journey I'm going to share with you, because the demands of my character are similar to yours (when you and I get together for tea on a Monday night I'll show you the notes for what I'm coming up with, and you'll fully see) I think it's fantastic that we're even at the point now where the circumstances have now permitted us to work and build something together, and though our connection is as natural as breathing, this is going to be something where there's going to definitely be anger and clashing and fierceness, and I think we're both looking forward to that gigantic studio space, because when you see the idea, trust me you're going to want to come on over and work on the narrative, and I'm so excited that we get to share that opportunity. SO, if you're wondering where I am tonight, it's in the space I have at the moment, working up a sweat, storyboarding and making notes, while browsing other mediums of a similar kind of art, for a further inspiration. Your understanding is absolutely appreciated, darling, and if this city is about people surrendering to being their own sexy selves, the mere empathy for this artist and his creative process, makes you sexy, so thanks beautiful.

On to it!

Older

Some mornings you feel it a lot more, depending upon the evening before (the evening before being a moment I haven't had in a long while) I'm looking at the calendar and I know that in a few weeks I'll at last be settled into my new space (I expected months ago such a relocation, so I'm glad that it's finally come to pass) I think I had to wait for the right kind of place to be in, and it's a lot bigger than I expected, which I'm glad for. How this ties in to the feeling of how you feel 'it' a lot more is simple - I'm quite sick of waking up here, because this space is too small to hold all the ideas that I have been waiting for too long to explore. I'm glad that I still have the ideas to begin with (and they are so much better) But ideas are nonsensical if you're not applying a little bit more of an action to them, yes? They are just scrawling that is unintelligible and really doesn't have much meaning until you put the full weight of your effort behind them. Effort is discipline, be it to get enough rest or good food or to balance the practical with the fantastic (although the practical does have it's fantastic moments) I don't feel like I'm disciplined and healthy enough where I am, and that the first day I roll out of bed and I stand up and suddenly there is all this sunshine pouring through all of the windows and I look across my space and there'll be enough room to run towards the kitchen - it's that moment I require to fully commit to the ideas I've put on to paper. For me, the priority is to just get through the next few weeks while furniture is moved out, and the space is vacated and I can take ownership of it. Effort is also staying physical with the space you have, and I'm trying - I've had a pretty intense 2010 when I think of all the things that have happened, and all the people that I have loved who are no longer here, and the evolving responsibilities which I've taken to quite well (I've grown so much in this time, who I was last year I don't really recognize - it's me but a far better version in the here and now) Only a few more weeks of maintaining and continuing to repair the damage physically. Though I've been working a lot at my practical job, I fully recognize how much it's shaped me, and changed me for the better, and how the work is beginning to become complimentary to the nature of my existence again, thankfully. At the same time, I've let myself be beaten down a little bit by the workload, and I'm only now starting to balance things out. I feel it this morning, but it wasn't from the work, but the choreography, and the excitement of working with a couple of amazing individuals I've met through the work that I've done in my job. I earned this space. I earned it. And when I wake up in the morning, that first day, you can be sure that I'm going to leap out of bed, and run with gigantic, bounding steps to my kitchen, hop up on the kitchen counter in my underwear, pour myself a cup of coffee, and look out at this beautiful city for a bit, before I start my day of training and work. This is the life waiting for me, and in the last days of being here, I can't wait for it.

Ahead

I am making a decision to return to doing this kind of work again (I miss it, and it's way too much fun, so I shall)

Eulogy

I am trying to wrap my brain around the fact that you are gone. I've experienced death in my lifetime more than a few times, but it's your loss in particular which sticks. To contemplate the fact that you are not here, for someone so full of life and living and promise. Someone with so much passion and yet so much anguish and pain that you endured in the short time you were upon this planet, and how you somehow managed to get beyond such things and find love. You were the example of poetry that I would use, of transforming something of grief into something of wild beauty and joy. If I were to sit down and discuss with another all the elements of a tragic beauty, you would be it. To even frame such things in past tense does not make sense to me at all - there's a displaced quality to it all where in quiet moments (I find these come when I am motion, be it dance or walking along with my headphones on, or on the bus) I'll think of you and the fact that not too long ago, you closed your eyes and this time you did not open them. The mere fact that your physical being does not exist, and that you are wisps of smoke and ashes scattered about, and how I'd tell your little sister over and over again throughout this all that your soul is intact, and I so believe that, but that I wish it was present, in the here and now, in living flesh with laughter. You reminded me of all the great laughter - the kind that isn't polite or as courtesy, but the one that would make you double over and howl and roll on the floor unable to breathe because you'd be so full of joy. Imagine that, that you had the kind of charm to suffocate people, and we never minded it whatsoever. I am trying to understand how someone so beautiful and sensual and playful and sexy who had no inhibition and the mind of a genius (who else could get into Harvard while in a coma? Only you could do that, you know) is not here.

(Where did you go?)

I've been sick on some level since you died. I haven't really recovered fully just yet, and though I'm the tower of strength for everyone, in your last days you taught me that I should allow myself to be more vulnerable, and that the only way to truly be strong is to admit it when you're hurting, so I'm hurting. And now that I've admitted that, I think it's also a good thing to tell you that you've lit a fire under my ass in the best possible of ways. I know I've been ill and ailing and that physically I haven't felt myself for weeks since you first became ill, and that the majority of this summertime has been spent either lying in bed or at my job, but that I'm assuring you in the here and now that when I'm feeling stronger (and I will be feeling stronger) that promise I made to you before you died I will absolutely keep, and that I promise you that you will not be forgotten, and that there is a wealth of surprises to share with the world that will have your name, or your impression attached to them, and that I'll do your memory justice with what is being offered, and that even in death, you will still always be one of the most beautiful souls I will have ever encountered, and that I'm so glad that we met when things were absolutely rough for you, and that I had the pleasure of helping you do what you ultimately did on your own, and that's move forward. I'll move forward for you, and I'll keep watch over your sister and give her all the love and attention I can give, and I'll relearn how to dance, and I'll build that school, and I'll repair and heal and love. I'll remember my priorities and make sure that as I transition into a new phase of my life, when I stretch out in my new space and begin to move again, somewhere you'll be around, and though it's a negative thing usually to imply a haunting, I hope you're around, you prankster girl, to play with me every chance you get.

You were lovely, and you are lovely, and I'll miss you, beautiful, but not enough to hide away from the world and withdraw and forget. For you, I'll remember myself. I promise.

Maps, Charts, and Projections

I only required space and time. That is all that was ever needed at this point, and I didn't know it until I took the opportunity to find out. I knew it when I had that familiar chill in my spine, and when my mouth opened up like I was hungry in a way I had not been, in a long time (and it is still not closed, and it is as if I am being hollowed out, and it is a divine pleasure, trust) I knew it when my step made me faster than anyone I was walking by, and I wasn't winded, and I knew it when it was as if I had seven projections in front of my eyes, all with different aspects of narratives - of maps and charts and words, and last lines first. I knew that all I had required in the last six months was just a moment to simply breathe, and that I had not found it in Montreal, and I would not find it here, until I had taken space from everyone and everything, save for what I chose. You choose, you know. Even when you are outside for a stroll in the fall air, it's still all a choice as to what it is you invite in, and what you deem unnecessary, and last night it was as if, for the first time in four years, everything else simply fell away (and four years ago, I wasn't even close to being this man, trust me) Matters of love or sex don't matter in a sense, because things will attend to themselves. You feel absolute longing but it somehow shifts in direction, and you know that the only way to someone's mouth, or to be inside of their body, or to anything of longing, is the path you suddenly find yourself on. So here it was, waiting. I didn't understand it until the now, and now that I know, only a full surrender is going to bring this all to the surface, so I give in (Here are my wrists for you, so bind them, and take me with you...) I do know that I will, in all likelihood, as a result of this, have the wildest bedroom in the city of Toronto (and it could have been no other way) Control isn't necessarily the issue, but the understanding that it's no longer time to give in to variables out of my hands. You see, no one has ever known how to construct a setting like this, who I know. So I have to give the example. I had paralyzed my mind with thoughts of how it should be, and it only took a moment of walking into a new space to realize what I could do with this narrative (and I'm doing so as we speak) I have four more days until I return back to work. Four days (Four days is plenty, yes) Money is not an issue. Whatever it takes and whatever has to be done, and whatever I have to do physically I will do for this. I'm surrendering. I'm yours. I'm giving in and giving in again until you have me (and until this is finished)

Coincidentally, this entry is finished (To it we go...)

You have to come to me now.

I'm taking a little time off from things in a couple of days (I've more than earned it) I would call it a rest but it's the exact opposite of a rest. If anything, it's to properly realign. I have too many openings and discoveries, and not enough time to fully pursue them. Time is always available, actually - it's just a matter of taking it, which I am (and I'm glad for it) Though I am tired, this is probably the healthiest I've felt in a long while. Healthy not only in the body and the spirit, but in this particular case I'll point out the wallet. I suddenly have resources (I suddenly have a lot of resources due to what I can only call an unexpected financial winfall of sorts) Either way, it changes the terms of what will be in the new year, and in order to properly attend to that, I need time off from work (which I am now taking for about eight days or so - plenty of time for what I have to do) But no negotiating terms anymore. I don't like variables in other people's hands, because other people either fuck it up, or others fuck things up for them. Me, well, though I can be accused of having my perversions and my deadly habits, when it comes to the things that I do I don't fuck up (ok, that's not entirely accurate - I don't fuck up now) It's not that I'm afraid of secret rooms or unexpected pleasures or possibilities (I so am ready for anything along those lines) All I am saying now is that I've decided that in the new year, since I have the money to do so, I'm setting up shop somewhere, and inviting you over. Now you can come, and you can come and dance, and you can come and watch (or you can even come and fuck, and you know who you are) Either way, I am shopping for a bed, and I'm shopping for a studio now, and I'm not afraid of the variables that comes with this decision. I know it's risky, and I know it's vague, but it's a blog entry. Blog entries aren't about specifics in terms of 'this is on the list of things to do' Blog entries are like taking notes in a journal quickly while you're sitting in a cafe waiting for a friend. They are incidental, and just reflective of the moment (and at this moment, I just made one gigantic entry in my so-called journal)

You have to come to me now, yes. I'm pretty, I'm a dancer, I fuck better than most men, and I know you (It will be reflected in narrative, yes)

(Yes...)

Maddy pt. 7

I'm dis appointed in your lovers. Your excuses for men (or in this particular case, a man) How little he must know of what he has let go (and let go of again and again) It is not enough for me to let it pass without a word or two, to say that he has let go of the one taste every man should kill for. That he has let go of the one who would do things for him beyond any other inclination by any other, and that his failure in recognizing it makes him forever a failure as a man. You should know, Maddy, that anyone who cannot give in to any desire that you wish for is a coward, and fearing of love and sex and any other wild desire a man could know. You are a dancer that is not recognized, you know. Your teachers fail at it when they give you a choreography that does not challenge or dare you. Your friends fail to know how much it matters for you to feel lean and empty and how anything that makes you otherwise merely weighs you down (and you were meant to be frail and thin and so lovely) I wish I could barricade you and I in a room together and we could starve ourselves and only have our dance and each other to feed us (it is a desire that doesn't have to be satisfied, but it has to be spoken of so that you know that there is at least one man who actually understands what it is that you demand and require) Your supposed man is a failure and where he is a failure is in his inability to give in to what most would kill for. You are absolute desire. You have a body and a heart that was made for pleasure, and the fact is whether he or anyone else knows it, you have few (if ever any) who have known how to properly encourage it (Do I make any sense at this point with what I say, darling?) So this finds you at the end of something. I have no doubt that your heart and your spirit feels crushed at the present time but it would be unwise to bend to such a thing. You do not need to give in to the loss, but understand that who you are at the moment, however wildly beautiful and so giving you are, is nothing compared to the woman that you are becoming, and that all of this loss will only compel you further to strip down everything you are (right down to your physical sense) and build yourself back up again. The temporary cruelty you have felt cannot touch how wild you are. How your body and your heart and your soul are intact, and though you feel loss you will soon feel weightless, and uninhibited, and pity the man who has let you go, for you are a dancer, and no man in his right mind lets go of a dancer, let alone one so beautiful, and so alive. You are the very definition of living, and though bruised and hurt, you are far more living and breathing and daring than he will ever be, and one day, very soon, in the quiet away from everyone, you will laugh at how he was so much of what was (and how so much of what was, is no longer required...)

An old entry to begin a new phase.

I am not a fan of restraint anymore. Delayed gratification with slow progress, or hesitations or doubts. How you kill desire is by demonstrating an inability to find a way to work with the circumstances you are provided, to come closer to the one that you want (and want badly) A time eventually comes when you no longer have the patience, and it's not an intellectual decision at all. It comes in the physical, where you realize that even though there is still a hint of the wonder and the delight and the wild, it is buried in an avalanche. One day, you just simply let go. You love still, and you always will, but your desire to move and push forward with something disappears. Is it cruel? Yes. Is it fair to crucify me for it? Perhaps. I make promises, but if you do not allow me to keep them, how can a thing survive? Are you beautiful? Absolutely. Are you a wonderful soul? Without a doubt. Do you make me laugh? Always. All I will say is that the allure of the narrative overwhelmed you. It's no reflection on your worth. You are worthy of the wildest, boldest of love. I offered it. The wall that you put up (and keep in mind that even in the most evil of circumstances, there were freedoms you could have fought for, that you did not - simple little things that there there, and you did not, but could with others) was too much. I saw a window of opportunity to pursue the narrative. To put the show first. I put the show first. I'm sorry. As I said, you can crucify me all you like for turning my focus to perfecting the craft, the show, and the soul, but before you do, ask yourself genuinely if you could have done more to brought me closer, and if the answer is 'Yes...' then perhaps on some level, you should at least understand why I feel the way I feel. How you kill desire is by not attending to it. I attended. I waited, and pushed, and I provoked. You ultimately did not reply, and the saddest thing is, you are one of the greatest lovers on the planet. Something was there. And we let it go.

Wednesday

I'm in the mood to get physical all day and night.

(That is it)

Delayed Gratification?

The show is ready, but I will not be performing it just yet. The Nuit Blanche show is now the priority. I am not worried about 'losing it' because the narrative is intact, and it's ready to go, and I always have said that it's just a matter of the body evolving to the point of being able to pull it off. Well, the preparation for Nuit Blanche will be more than enough to make me ready for what is to come in October. For now, all I have to focus on is being physical, since the narrative that is evolving for NB is relying upon a structured improvisation (with a little cosmetic adjustment?) It means I'm not worried about scripting, or the finer details, or over-preparation. All NB requires for this installation is a beginning, middle, and end (and me and my dancers will attend to the rest) Anyways, at this point, I required a little something more simple - if I'm just working at my job, continuing to organize for the 3rd of October, and just getting physical, I'll be a happy man. Besides, the crux of Arrogant Little Fuck has to be about someone who is justified in his behaviour, and though I'm close when it comes to the body, and what it can do, I am simply not there yet. Yes yes, I know this is a show that has yet to get off of the ground, but what I'm doing at NB is a natural lead-in, and isn't it more about being led by the process, and not the possibility of the end result? Would I have wandered into The Green Room that day, and have encountered Benjamin, without my show? I seriously doubt it (in the most tangible sense, the reason why I had that rare day off on that day, was exactly because I needed time to work upon the narrative, and two hours later, here we are) If anything, I'm bending to the wind. I'm surrendering to the immediate, and to the now, and trusting that upon the 4th of October, when I'm four days into what I plan to be a three week vacation, I'll be boarding a train to Montreal to inhabit a studio space for a couple of weeks, and doing what it is that I set out to do a long time ago, and that's take the material that was, and turn it into something new. So for now, all I am going to do is focus on the physical, and prepare myself, and the rest of my group, for what I know will be one wild night in the history of Toronto art.

I can wait for you.

Cleanse

I'm not fed up or tired or sick of anything at the moment. I'm not, really. More I'm just inspired to do the wild, and it's time that I burn away a little more of the unnecessary, starting with my body. It has to be the body first, really. I need to feel a little hunger for the next few days, and though I wouldn't call it an intentional starvation (cause I know how to do such things without falling apart, but only becoming stronger) I am sure that the idea of wasting away for a few days will be quite compelling. It fits my character, both in the here and now, and in the upcoming narrative (which is now complete) I would head on off to Montreal to start performing, but I'm needed here, and frankly, now is the time to let it simmer, and to make someone I know all the more hotter, and wanting of me. Now is the time to be my natural self, and no longer worried about the 'when' of anything, but simply prepare myself to be ready for what is to come. What matters to me in the here and now, in this month of August, is preparation for September, so all of my actions, whether it's in the people I speak with, or the nature of the dance, has to be all geared towards that, and part of that means letting go of a lot of things I no longer need. I don't require the security of familiar things or individuals to keep me safe and warm. No, what I want right now is a dance floor, a body that feels empty and lean and daring, and expressions of hot desire pouring upon my body day after day. I've got a job in the practical world, and I'll do it, but as it was last year, at this time, it now becomes mere interruption for who and what I truly am. I get it now (I get it at last) So let The Cleanse begin - tonight, in the here and now, it's time to strip away everything that was, and build something new, something wild (something that I know you'll love when you get your hands upon it, since I know you're thinking about it, if you're reading this)

I feel alive.

New Stimuli

I'm not scared of the biopsy (Those who know me know that I can endure anything, and I have the scars to prove it) Slide the needle in already, and leave it there for awhile if you like, and I'll walk around with it feigning that I've been stabbed by a wayward nurse (really, I'm too healthy of an individual on all levels for this to be serious - my money is on it being a blister from an infection) I don't really care what results tell me cause I know what the body is telling me today - that I feel strong and wild, and with a further motivation (a little bit of new stimuli is the reason) I like that a playlist is being created for me in dance, by a very talented artist with a parallel sensibility (You should know by now that when I find a creative friendship, I pay attention to it, cause it's absolutely worth the time to develop such connections with people on this planet - they can be few and far between) The two sessions of training have been a little more of the primal variety, and I wonder if this motion was buried, and that I simply required something fresh and new to bring it out of me (which is a commentary upon what has been - clearly there has been a reason for the overall body fatigue, and it hasn't been physical) I sit here typing and realize that I require another sweat, and more of a dance, and then I need to get this appointment out of the way so that I can come on home, and do some more (bleeding chest and all) If I do get eventually cut open, and there is a scar, I'll make sure I do something creative with it, and proudly wear it (as I will the ones upon my legs, they are begging for a tattooed narrative) Scars are meant for tongues, I think. Scars are meant for fingertips and laughter and salt. Either way, I demand more of dance, and more of conversation and dialogue as I've had in the last while, and less of a sameness.

Let's dance.

(Shall we?)

Hello Morning

I feel so much better this morning. I think it's cause it's the first Monday I've had off in ages, and I suddenly have two more days to work upon the art. If I look at what I wish to achieve today, it's two training sessions, transcription of narrative, and a further organization of the wild Nuit Blanche event Benjamin and I will be responsible for, upon the 3rd of October. If all three things happen today, then there is no reason why every single day can't be just as productive (I can forgive myself for only being able to train during the Wednesday-Friday period of time, as there is a studio I do have to buy, so I have to bend to the practical...) On a purely different subject last night, a very beautiful girl did point out to me that certain statements were just words, and she's right. Love, even of the self, isn't about declarations or songs or expressions of affections. No, love is about hard work. Love is about a depth of understanding and compassion and empathy, and the desire to push forward upon things regardless of the circumstances. I am definitely not the greatest when it comes to loving someone (especially myself, at times) but I'm working on it. At this moment of time in my life, upon the 13th of July, the defining acts of love I have to make are all within that narrative. There is no pursuit of anyone, and odd as it sounds, I have no time to pursue a single soul on a direct path. I'm not supposed to be singing love songs, or standing outside of a window at the moment, lamenting. The reality is, I have no cause to lament. Four weeks from now I'm going to be in Montreal performing. Twelve weeks from now I'll be boarding a flight to Paris to perform for two weeks. Two and a half months from now I'll be helping to stage one of the wildest events this town will ever see (all with such elegant simplicity) There is a girl waiting for me in another town who plays a mean guitar and backflips with the best of them, a friend who I will allow to become a lover (something tells me I won't become soft or passive from a touch, but wilder, and harder, as it should be) There is a novella to finish writing (a promise I made to Shannon before she left was that I would, and so I shall) about two dancers (One of them, regardless of circumstances, who I am grateful for, for sparking the voice again) Do I sit here, tired, and uninspired, or do I polish off this cup of coffee, stretch out, and get started with what is looking like one promising, wild day?

What do you think?

The Week Ahead

List

1. Train (weights, jiu jitsu & wrestling - dancing is not permitted this week)
2. Further organization of Nuit Blanche show with Benjamin (I need more sexy naked dancers)
3. Regain my sanity (good luck on that one, eh?)
4. Experience less unrequited desire/lust (if unable, see five)
5. Experience more unrequited desire/lust (and pour it into aforementioned art)
6. Watch less bad pornography
7. Watch a lot of good pornography?
8. Work for only three days for this week (and the rest of the summertime)
9. Try to not think about someone's mouth (or the rest of her body for that matter)
[Screw That]
10. Write the novella further
11. Photograph for the narrative (I can wait a few extra days for that)
12. Buy a train ticket to Montreal and have no plans to see anyone
13. Hang out with your girlfriend and tell you how good she smells
14. Go one week without having a girl tell me how lousy her boyfriend is
15. Dare to eat a peach

If I achieve at least 75% of this, it will be a good week, yes?

Maddy pt. 6

You have to leave his bed, you know. I somehow get the feeling you are there tonight (I could be way off, but you are not far removed from that place) Maybe you are here, but will eventually end up there again, so the sentiment may still apply. You have to leave his bed because the kind of love you are given is a shell of what you truly deserve, and I know the price to pay for settling, because I've settled far too many times for a taste that is lacklustre, or not deserving of the kind of pleasure that I can give. I've had mediocrity, and lovers who lie there and simply take the pleasure, yet are far too uninspiring in return. I've known what it's like to fuck someone who doesn't love you (and you don't really love them) and these days, I'd rather be in a bed by myself than be with a warm body that is far too cold. I know you have problems sleeping, and it has to hurt to be in your bed and to reach out for someone who is not there - I've known that when I've lost lovers, and girlfriends, and once, someone to death. I know how hard it is for you to not feel the warmth of touch but is his touch really all that inviting, or are his fingertips really like ice down your spine? How is it, Maddy, to give your wild, divine body to someone who complains about the dishes in the morning, before even kissing you? In what universe is it where a girl like you deserves that (and what kind of man can be so mediocre that he cannot see what it is that he does to you) You have to leave the bed of this supposed lover and find yourself elsewhere, be it in your own bed, or in the bed even of a friend (You talk so much of how men want you for sex - how would it be to just be held without it? Do you remember what that is like? Is it something that you've had?) Don't follow my lead. I settled. I settled for being a whore and I'm paying for it now because I don't know what it is to feel close to someone on all levels (though I'm starting to understand how to be, or what that means, again, but it took a long time to find that) You deserve more, Madeleine. The kiss on your mouth should linger sweetly, not taste like ash. The hand upon your back should burn into your body, not paralyze your spine. The love you give, is the love you should receive. Brutal as it sounds, try a little loneliness, and demand what you deserve, already.

It's what I thought of tonight, while I danced.

Maddy pt. 5

This is always going to be my favourite photograph of you (You didn't think I was going to show them your face just yet, eh?) It's a lot more fun this way, I think.

(I'll give you an excerpt upon your return from Montreal)

Friday

I had one of those transforming days, Friday. I took the day off from work (I've been so wound into the job, my art has been suffering, so I needed a little time) I spent the day training, and then at night, I decided I needed to revisit The Green Room (it had been months) but I took an unusual path there (I stopped off at St. Clair West station, and decided to shop at the gigantic Loblaws for a few healthy supplies) And then I took a walk down Bathurst, with a little detour on Albany Rd. to Bloor and Bathurst (it took a bit of time) It was too gorgeous of a day to simply show up and start writing. Thing is, when I did, I found someone hovering over my shoulder two minutes in, and it turned out to be my friend Benjamin (who was one of the last people I saw before I headed off to Montreal, but it was on the streetcar, and he was with his girlfriend, so we didn't have too much time to speak) This time though, we did, and in the conversation, I found out that Ben was launching his wild, fabulous art (it truly is - I'll post a sample or two up later) above the renovated upstairs (or soon-to-be renovated) of a space on Baldwin Ave (if you know this stretch of Baldwin, it's close to the AGO and OCAD, and is frequented heavily on a Saturday night. It also happens to be on the day of Nuit Blanche, on the 3rd, which makes it all the more perfect, since the space is in between the zones, and was trafficed heavily during last year's event. Two rooms, and while Ben will be launching art in one space, I'll be running the other room, which will be a combination of violent physical theatrical presentation/life-drawing modelling (it's too hard to explain - let's just say you're peeking in on a universe reflective of the art) Bells were ringing in my head, and I felt an excitement at this I haven't felt about anything in a long time (it's still a mild electric feeling) It was the perfect compliment to the narrative I'm ready to present (and a heavy influence upon it) and I knew there was a reason I took Friday off (if I hadn't, this wouldn't be happening) The symmetry was perfect, and now, I'm partly responsible for what I know, will be one memorable evening upon the 3rd of October.

To the day now, though, there's a lot of training and show preparation and organization required. I've had my pasta for breakfast, and it's time to sweat.

Thin.

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)