It's the little details...

Time is wonderful. I've never had this much breathing room. Somehow, even while paying off my mom's mortgage, I've found myself with enough for a down payment on a studio (elsewhere, mind you - Toronto property values, shame on you, really) Even more, though, I have time to create, and it's quite an extraordinary thing to see the physical and emotional changes the last few months (I wasn't able to properly reflect since I really have been working for the most part since May) I changed so much. Really. More in persuasion and clarity than anything, and though I'm still wild in the heart, I think a part of me is a little more measured in intent. I make mistakes still (but less of them, and so inconsequential it's funny) My job teaches being blunt and immediacy, and when I return to work upon the 7th of January (only to leave on the 30th to start performing) I'll miss it for that, but I'll be grateful for those skills which I apparently needed work on. I still need a lot of work, actually, but I really am getting there. It's an unusual feeling (I feel like I never get 'there...') I was writing a cheque to rent a venue in Montreal today (I haven't sent it, but I'm staring at it, and laughing that even when this leaves my bank account, I'll still have plenty to do what I have to do) I feel like I've earned this time - I've bought myself a little freedom and space to make such a thing permanent. I have a chance, and it feels quite tangible, and lovely (and scary even, in the best of ways) I look at the work, and it still sings. The body does, and so does the voice. I wonder what happened - when did the switch flip to this (and I stayed away from so many people for such a long time because I needed to get here, in silence, not necessarily on my own, but a little more alone) Yet there's still passion, and it's greater, and in the few interactions I have had with the outside world, I've been told that there's something new about me that others see (and it's a compliment) Maybe this is what a relaxed tension is - the thing eluding me in dance I have (and maybe I finally got it in life) You can still be wild, and with fire and heart, and still be at ease with it (I guess you can say, I walk around now without a care in the world, and I don't know when that happened, but thank the stars that it did) So it's the end of the year, and I have my show, and all the funding I need to pull it off the way I wish to. I'm heading to Montreal in early March, and I don't know how many times I will perform in Toronto (if any) before then (I'll think about it) And then onward to Halifax, and back here for a while before I see the west. At the conclusion of this summer, I'll have gone cross country, and I'm glad for that fact. I love summer in Toronto (but I don't mind not being here for some of it)

As for my heart when it comes to desire well, let's just say that I'm worthy of being wanted, and leave it at that for now.

Come to my show, eh?

It Might As Well Be New Year's...

I've calmed down somewhat since my last post. But not completely. Maybe I needed to fall off the edge a little bit, and stop acting so cool, when it's better to be hot. It's Christmas Day, and all I've done is either rest or dance (and I'm about to do the latter once more) Then it's staying unplugged, away from most technology (save for the headphones and the music coming out of them) and it's back to writing. Writing this show. Writing this show which has turned into an entire playlist of stanzas, where I'm losing track (and the mere fact that I'm losing track when it comes to this particular subject matter, tells me I've been exposed to a certain kind of emotion and loss far too much, and I am genuinely sick of it) If you ask me how I appear, it's calm, not with an expressionless face, but quite focused (I don't think I'd want to be someone in a staring contest with me right now, because they would lose) I was told by a friend late last night that she thought I could burn a hole in people with the look in my eyes now, so if anything, falling off the deep end emotionally has done something wonderful for the art. I found the source, and ultimately, that is what matters. Sometimes you can't do anything about the actions of others (nor should you even try, unless you're trying to save their soul from an addiction or death) We love who we love, and we want who we want, and my job right at this moment is to dance what I dance, and write what I write, and hope that it translates well enough upon a stage to make people think. Or make you think (or even better, feel) If you're a girl who is part of the subject of this show (and there are a few of you) I'm sorry, but all I've got is my longing, and my desperation, and my wild, and if that's not enough for one (or a few) of you, whether I've known you, or have yet to know you, all I can say is that at least, there is no illusion. I left my heart out there for all of you to see, and if that's not enough, then I better get accustomed to the fact that I am simply going to be one of those people who ends up alone, because he couldn't settle (and sorry, but I've heard a lot of voices, and the majority of you, when you turn aside to your sleeping lover, for one brief moment, know that you are settling) I can't. I'm incapable of it. I want that higher love and if it means bruising and ripping my body up on a stage to show it (and yes, to even show you) then so be it.

Time to dance.

I wrote you an email

I wrote to someone in the morning (it's just past midnight, now the 23rd) and I told her things that were burning on my lips. I hate technology. I hate that it was technology that had to be the medium of expression, but so be it (I said what I had to) You asked me last night if I still found you attractive, and I said yes (those of you who are linking to my blog here from an outside source, probably have an idea who it is) I'd say your name but I'm saving it for a stage, and you should know I am only growing wilder in the hours since I said what I said. Have I not earned an audience? (You remember that line) Right now, at this moment, I gather you are lying in someone else's bed, and I truly do understand it. I would only tell you that my body is warmer, and harder, and far more wilder than most of the boys who chase after your skirt (my mouth keeps mouthing your name after every sentence, like I want to say it badly, but I'm still saving it for the stage) Maybe that's why my show is about what it's about, because I am the more understanding, and the greater of lovers, and when things fall apart, when your boys scatter like rats away from light into the shadows and behind the walls, I stay and stay so very well. I find you information and I hold your hand and if I'm far away I use words that make you feel like I am. Yet it is past midnight, I have danced twice, and you are in his bed. He who has failed you in a short period of time, while I have never, and have always been here. People disappear and come in and out of your life and here I still am. I would tell you that it breaks my heart but it only beats stronger, and I assure you, when I arrive in that town of yours and I finally whisper your name with corresponding narrative and choreography, maybe you will finally realize just what you have on your hands (and learn a little more about the man who is still waiting outside) I know you have thought about me lying in your bed (fucking god, will you just let me in?)

Space

I've been ill the last seven days, and I've lost a lot. One would argue that perhaps I was simply meant to. If I apply reason, or rational thought to this all - if I step back and observe things from a distance and wonder about the nature of the last seven days, I would argue that the fever was necessary, because my body desperately required to detoxify, and that I needed to be at a ground zero, so that if I wanted to pursue all narratives, and head into the new year unfettered, and with momentum, I required loss. So this is loss. It began last Friday with a simple knock on the door, and a stranger (in the beginning) who answered, who upon reflection, was a pivotal figure in my life three years ago - someone who I was aware of, and never knew, who tied into all the longing and loss that brought me to this point. I shook his hand, and I wonder if he was the one who was sick, who gave me this (it would make sense if he did, really) And then one by one, lost loves everywhere. I would say everyone I have been wanting the last while, in one form or another, shared their love elsewhere (only one of these persons was in an official relationship) One by one, every single longing became officially unrequited (not to say there isn't potential there, but let's be a realist, if there was immediacy to it, I wouldn't be writing this blog, but kissing one of those girls) Maybe I need to admit that I am alone, and that's not a statement of nihilism or even self-pity, but again a rational, logical perspective - I simply am. I am the shoulder, the friend, the brother - I am the one who everyone comes to when they are despairing, and not when they are desiring. I take initiative, and few, if any, take the parallel with me. Maybe this is just simply space, because I have a show to work on, and a studio to build (and money to earn that goes towards both) Maybe I just required being stripped down and cleaned out and be at a loss, because space is simply being made for what is ahead. I like that thought. I love that thought, actually. Sitting here, sipping on tea and feeling my body wake up for the first time in seven days (still ill, mind you) I realize that I may have lost a lot the last week. It may have hurt in the body and the heart, but if acknowledgement of how I feel, and a stripped down body to rebuild properly is the result, I have no complaints.

So please, just get this fever out of my body, so I can start again.

Tag, You're It...

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

So here we are.

Today

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

Now.

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

You should let me play you, darling.

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