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.