sublimation is a dangerous thing. one could far too easily parlay the pointless into something with an end.

Once upon a time, there was a queen whose blood had all been drained. This made her feel weak, but she was glad for it, because she believed her blood was impure. She had been born in a distant kingdom to a princess without a prince—to a princess who surely must have come to death for this. But the Queen could not be sure because she had been sent away as soon as she was born. This Bloodless was raised by another queen who, soon, lost her blood as well. This queen’s blood dripped slowly from her womb, but never could form bone. It dripped for years and years until, finally, she went mad.

I remember the color of my mom's skin when I was four. And still have a map of her moles. I remember walking on my dad's back, feeling my heel slide off a knot to the bone. My foot to his arches of a strange mountain range. And my aunt, his sister's, ceramic "cave" on my grandma's coffee table. Sat there in two, once it had broken.

There is something in these cells and how one becomes many. And they eventually decide for themselves. How sometimes they walk away, and may hate you or love you or neither. I think of the thin magic invisible line where they don't work or they do.

A year later, this is finally gonna be published. Here's my final.
An embodied look at homelessness in LA and an exploration of a Utopia that would not cast a shadow.

I wish I could run up the mountain. But everything is on fire.

I don't think I was present for most of my childhood. I always seem to believe that I have a good memory. Except for that I can barely remember anything.

The last few times I've been asked my name, I had the impulse to answer something else.

Acts must be carried through to their completion. Whatever their point of departure, the end will be beautiful. It is only because an action has not completed that it is vile.

~Jean Genet (Thiefs Journal)

I guess that's to say that everyone is on the path, and all roads lead to beauty.

Life will always be equal parts: poison and joy.
And the more you open to either, you open to both.
You have to drink the poison to feel the joy.
That means there will always be pain, but not always suffering.
Suffering is resistance to pain.
And there will not always be resistance.
Eventually, there will be courage...or exhaustion.

I stopped suffering, and suddenly felt everything.

Put in the ground.

she walked out of the room, calmly this time. As my chest rise and fall. this morning, i realized i was at zero. even in the sunshine, carrying strawberries and greens, there are multiple truths. at first I took money as my value. then I remind myself, I just bought part of a rug. but i should be older, i should know what im doing, and, even though those things are not so I should be able to swing this. For love. it should protect me. for love; these are my secrets.
so, there was no fight tonight. she calmly walked out. maybe it was a coincidence and cold was just byproduct, but it happened in a moment when I couldn't give her what she needed. so, The Hermit: I restore myself to the narrator. The Right to orate my own life. my observer: 2 muse.

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The little wild flower plant's leaves got twice at big in the rain. They are the same exact shape, just bigger. Plants are cool like that. They grow from the bottom up and from everywhere at once. I saw it as I left to take a run. The air was cool enough to break up the shit in my lungs. I wore my mercury necklace and thought deep thoughts, tasting them like blue blood. Something that could never pass my lips and hit the air. Something running fast and quick like mercury. Something gained speed, shifted shape. something that can slide through the eye of a needle. Wanting to shape-shift. Wanting to move in every direction at once; feeling the necessity if wings.

There is also something about order in movement. structure and sequence, something about gravity and turning the plant to face the sun. This is the most intense time of year. Something about slowness and darkness and earth. And something about speed.

Mercury could be everywhere at once because he was so fast. He was fast enough that there was no space between impulse and action. they are the same to him. and he stays clean and honest because nothing could build up and there could be no comparison: now to then here to there, whatever. I bet he doesn't know what movement is. He wouldn't be able to understand true or false. He just is.

So,
it recently came into awareness that there are possible negative effects from the lack of self-reflexive discourse in dance. LA is the crystallization of the problems: damnit-i-just-want-to-dance, and I-worked-so-hard-for-this-how-dare-you-question-me mentality, partly because dance as an art has become mixed up with dance as commercialism = what sells. This could maybe to a distortion in logic. This could maybe lead to thinking something is okay when it really is not
For example

The air is dry, but I wake up wet. The body knows.
Inside and outside
are not at odds, just move at different speeds.

Signifier

what is this?
this thing that is so clear: this thing.
"Thing" say, "thing" that is such a weak word
so who will tell an other?
This thing is here on the tip of your tongue
or, cough it up from the back of your throat
and, awaiting interpretation
can you hold it
quiver in your hand? this thing.
Is it a concrete house in the city?
Is it walking distance from the same day you go everyday?
Is it just enough not to cry
and then more of the same?
or is it something else,
this thing.
Could it be that you lay on the ground
and see the veins of the tree? this thing,
it burst into tears on the freeway
wondering what note finally let it free.
what word on the phone
what bump in the texture of the steering wheel
what wave in the ocean cracked this thing open
which breath, which sigh, which time she cried
this thing

There is more space in us than there is matter. In fact,there is more space in us than there is of us. Really, its all space, right? That is...until we crash into it.

And so you land in the moment. Naked and shaking and fearless. And thankful and empty and wondering and full. Wound and unwinding. Wounded and worn and pure. And so you land in this moment ever changing.

Count by the days becoming
and make space
go back to the place before touch
lay down your dead
so your arms have room
let go
and wait for a tug

Go back to the place before reason and watch
for the cause
before your eyes caught the mirror and it caught you
before the first thought and its unwinding
and wait for a tug

let yourself know
that you know
you will know soon
you know.
you know,
that you will know soon

write me.

"The answer to each moment must be 'yes'
and the question, 'can you live with it?' becomes the test"
--A.D.

I am sitting on the pillow eating peanut butter off a spoon. In this moment, there is no place I'd rather be.

Oh so tired. Was painting and dancing 'till four, then packed and drove out this morning.
poied myself in the head like 20 times last night. whatever.
Im remembering these places: being in them, not wanting to be anywhere else. Smart enough to noticce.

does feel unfamiliar, though. Always after shifted, what fits? For the first time, the pictures on the walls look like memories.
Walking to the coffee shop, thinking about different things and people---something is weird. there are things going on that I don't get to know about. Maybe at another time this would have driven me mad. Fortunately I am too tired. For tonight, I will stay out of the way.

Completion of communication. Not missing parts. Time for full receiving and resolve; go all the way to the end of the exhale. Also, the giver receives the impact of what they gave, they see their effect. Often we are afraid to let an action proceed, complete and let go. We are afraid that if it ends there will never be anything else. Know that the next impulse will always come. Following through moves us forward through time. Something has happened. Something is different.

This is what actors do. Figure out what is them and what is me. You can never not be yourself.
In someone else's world, all parts and secrets of that world. They are only one piece.
There is an instant when you see the world change.

trickster final. This is a fucking mess. I could have written papers that were cleanner than this, but I needed to start to try.

I feel cracked
I feel listening
I feel honey
I feel bees
I feel pouring
I feel golden
I feel earth
I feel skydiving
I feel crooked
I feel left
I feel ruth
I feel horses
I feel women
I feel hair
I feel blood
I feel christian
I feel chicago
I feel gray
I feel brown
I feel quivering
I feel sex

a series of personifications with no where else to go.

one spider was harmed in the making of this paper.
or
a spider gave his life so that I could write this final.
or
a bottle of jack daniels with nipple on it.

p.s. can an a priori experience be a priori since the a priori experience itself is an experience. its kind of like deja vu. the immediate experience of having experienced this before.

"Image and Reality"

I am stronger now, but I don't want to decieve myself. Learning to move through the fear. sitting before you, my eyes are water. not the color of water, but water itself. sometimes contained. You say Im courageous. sometimes---water pouring--you say Im beautiful. Ashley Dass values when I am strong. maybe in the past she has had something at stake. I noticed how it made me mad when she said Im "in a better place". And me, knowing before, my strength in my weakness and vulnerability, but wanting to be strong enough to bring it into the world. Afraid now of not being afraid. Wondering if I might be too hard. wondering what is now in the shadow. But guessing a bit: here's how I know Im afraid: I obsess over Leah. Here's how I know somethings off: I get fucked up before teaching. Here's how I know Im sad: I cry my brains out in Ally's class. I try to stare down a six-year-old, but start crying myself....
who an I to say anything.

I just got back from therapy. a 7 hr ordeal, as I am an idiot and seeing someone in santa barbara. i have the visual of holding a lighter to a hundred and a twenty. I guess i mostly talked through the therapist. on the way, I found a spider in my coffee. or rather, found a spider in my mouth, via the coffee. the spider is dead. this disturbed me deeply. I didnt tell the therapist this, instead I ranted about Michael Madden.

Q
once again I am facing what might be the core question of humanity: what do you do when you know that what you have right now is going to go away?
[lets face it] we're all going to die, but somehow must accept that we're alive right now.

I started by working on the space next door. covering the windows and seeing the books that angela has started to move over there. movement and spirituality sort books. She decided that the suicide girls could stay over here with the rifle. I looked at my books, the division of what goes where is not so simple. in the spectrum of body, movement, feminism, gay studies, and sex it is hard to draw the line. what is this division? and then, there are the books about death.