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Monday, 26 June 2006
Done dance.
And of course we all give excuses as a blur. Days ago, I offered anything - bread, women, souls - for a purpose. And now I have one, all I see is lists.
Monday is a refuge and by arriving into it late upon the wake of dreams I render it unnecessary. Too many things, not enough somethings. So I abstract dissertations, present calls for submissions, saunter around the dim supermarket and drink tea, lots of tea.
Words here have been unapologetically poor. I must take root in the performances of Friday night, all the blushings of contemporary dance, the fascination with bodies but without the haughty pretensions. These were amateurs and showed and endeared themselves to the audience because of it. Within the flexed limbs and crooked torsos was a fluidity, a pacing and movement that I can only wish was present in these stilted, jolting grammars. It was here, but is lost.
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