how??

it blows my mind that people in fucked up controted body-killing postures can think about sex. sex requires me feeling everything, and feeling it a lot, and being glad to feel it all. which explains the hallucinations.

but maybe that's the secret- that in thinking about sex, they can tune into all of the awesome sensations they've otherwise turned of? please, if you're reading, weigh in.

oh, hi there.

i'm a new choreographer. i'm also, it turns out, new at dancing. I'm establishing myself as an experimental dancer/choreographer and, and this is the weirdest part, for me, improvisor. making movement and setting it seems fascistic to me right now, and i'm interested to see how that plays out, what with the big gast showing up to rehearsal on Sunday.

i presented a dance tonight that felt as though my role was producer. i got rehearsal space, i cast the piece (found a willing and wonderful partner in alex zendzian), i found a great and willing (thank you god) musician in the lovely and talented Carrie Baum, i got us a slot in a show. but make it up? shit, that's what both of us are doing every time we do it.

and that feels right, and true and most of all honest. not dictatorial, pedagogical, cartesian. heehehehe.

p.s.

i got the haircut, and damn it's fine.

omg (next to you, this weekend)

omygod i'm doing a totally new dance in two days and beyond totally new it's totally unknown. well, mostly, and i'm so excited and SCARED and nervous and exhilarated about its prospects. new partner, new concept (improvisation, myself dancing), new collaborator (on musical accompaniment, also improvised). Audience? whoa. and of course, it feels like this is The Show that will make or break me in general public opinion. like all the rest, right.
also, the day after its second showing, i'm starting rehearsals for another one, and so i'm being very drawn to administrative tasks: balancing my budget, looking for festival/showcase applications online, anything to get me away from the actual artmaking.

don't get me wrong, the actual art making is the best part. it's someone else's work ethic in me that makes me "account for myself through the wise use of my leisure time" (thanks, jonathan franzen), and so when the actual fun soul baring part comes up, i reach for the cultural affirmation part, to make sure i'm not just a self-obsessed moron. funny how i'm blogging about self-obsession.

tomorrow, dance class. "dance is so weird" a woman said in class this morning, "I can't believe this is what I do.?"

vanity

so um now i want some itty bitty bangs and no more hair on my neck. the shag is over, it's bob time. i'm so deep.

i can fly!

i finally did it. after months of dreaming, and weeks of
conversation and penny saving and drawings drawings
drawings, i have wings.

damn. monkdom?

i think it's maybe time, now, to enter the next phase. the one where i don't drink so much, and where i go to yoga class and don't try and hook up with everyone who's remotely attractive in my immediate vicinity.

dammit.