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I spent a lot of time on College Street yesterday, and wrote down a few observations.
The acrid smell of human piss stings my nose while I wait. A middle-aged man in mirror shades, and a shiny PVC jacket pedals by on a tricycle, show tunes blaring from a pocket stereo. An unhealthy-looking older woman in ruined clothes squats on the sidewalk smoking bargain cigarettes. A white stretch limo idles in front of me; a young man wearing a ball cap sits in back, looking at me with an idle expression.
A man lets his fat brown puppy shit on the sidewalk in front of the woman, then drags the still-pooping dog away by the leash. The woman mumbles in faint disgust. The woman is fascinated by me. "Are you writing a letter?" she asks.
"Yes," I say. Close enough, anyhow.
"Ah, she says. I wrote two letters, once." Then she stands up and walks away, and I watch her leave. Her shirt is filled with tiny holes, like she's been chewed on by rats and moths in her sleep.
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The butoh workshop is going well. I am very much out of my element. The class is conceptual to the extreme, and I spent much of yesterday afternoon being earth (the element, not the planet). For a half hour or so, I became earthquake, skree, and stillness. And I performed it, while doing my best to experience "no mind." It's exhausting and exhilarating, all at once. My muscles ache today, and I can't wait to see what brain-destroying material I absorb. Part of me views what we're doing as painfully artsy-fartsy, and it goes very much against my pragmatic nature. However, there is no denying what I'm seeing. When I pause for a moment to look around the room, I am witnessing raw and visceral dance of a sort I rarely see. And I am part of this.
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Well, running out of time on the public library terminal, so I must be off. I'll write more if I get the chance to come back to the library.
The acrid smell of human piss stings my nose while I wait. A middle-aged man in mirror shades, and a shiny PVC jacket pedals by on a tricycle, show tunes blaring from a pocket stereo. An unhealthy-looking older woman in ruined clothes squats on the sidewalk smoking bargain cigarettes. A white stretch limo idles in front of me; a young man wearing a ball cap sits in back, looking at me with an idle expression.
A man lets his fat brown puppy shit on the sidewalk in front of the woman, then drags the still-pooping dog away by the leash. The woman mumbles in faint disgust. The woman is fascinated by me. "Are you writing a letter?" she asks.
"Yes," I say. Close enough, anyhow.
"Ah, she says. I wrote two letters, once." Then she stands up and walks away, and I watch her leave. Her shirt is filled with tiny holes, like she's been chewed on by rats and moths in her sleep.
----------------
The butoh workshop is going well. I am very much out of my element. The class is conceptual to the extreme, and I spent much of yesterday afternoon being earth (the element, not the planet). For a half hour or so, I became earthquake, skree, and stillness. And I performed it, while doing my best to experience "no mind." It's exhausting and exhilarating, all at once. My muscles ache today, and I can't wait to see what brain-destroying material I absorb. Part of me views what we're doing as painfully artsy-fartsy, and it goes very much against my pragmatic nature. However, there is no denying what I'm seeing. When I pause for a moment to look around the room, I am witnessing raw and visceral dance of a sort I rarely see. And I am part of this.
-----------------
Well, running out of time on the public library terminal, so I must be off. I'll write more if I get the chance to come back to the library.
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no subject
Date: 2008-09-17 04:34 pm (UTC)From:Enjoy the rest of your workshop!
no subject
Date: 2008-09-29 08:04 pm (UTC)From:If I had known you were on College Street I'd have invited you into The Shop.
We still have to amend this.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-29 08:42 pm (UTC)From: