I have no idea where this came from

She had slender legs, like a swan.

But not a swan's legs, no, her legs were like the swan's neck, soft white, supple, rounding and swelling as the neck met the body and the legs met the butt.   She had green eye shadow, deftly applied, and her lids drooped indolently.  She was thin.   Ballet dancers are often unhealthily thin.  Ballet teachers are often unhealthily cold bitches.  The two go together.  You can expect a cold bitch ballet teacher to say to one of her girls, "you're getting kind of fat there.  I think soon you'll barely fit into your leotard."  And you can expect the impressionable ballet girls to take the comment like an arrow to there heart, embedded for years, festering and radiating out in all aspects of their life.  Ballet is an art for people who hate themselves.

But people who hate themselves are an easy target for other people who want things from them.

Brusequa was one such man-boy. He wanted pussy. Not literally.  Certainly he wanted to insert his prick into some female reproductive anatomy, but beyond that, he wanted the manly conquest of doing so, the status, the power, the smug sense of self worth that came from having stories about women submitting to him, letting him, begging him to give it to them.   Brusequa was, is, not a sympathetic character then, but to someone who had not been introduced to him via this open and truthful portrayal, he would be seen as clean, pleasant, and agreeable.  He had good manners.   He had a handsome body marred only by a too long neck that was an asset to the ballet and a too big nose that was a punishment by his author.  Something to keep him from looking to good, being to self-confident.

Don't think this made him appear humble, no, it made him present himself as even more prideful.  But it was just a tad bit of an act.  Not totally believed, for who could love that gargantuan nose.

Needless to say, he got the ladies he sook with his entry into the world of ballet. Men are always in short supply, so he could be a prima donna much of the time.  And being around all those women, so insecure about their pudgy, bloated waists that were almost as wide around as there wrists.  Oh la la.

"Francqua, Francqua, you must be joking. Oh girl, you are a silly creature."

"Oh, Brusqua, don't taunt me so.  I'm serious.  I'm practicing my part."

"It can't be.   Look at that frolicking.   You look perfectly ridiculous."

"Oh don't say such a thing.  Here, let me show you."

And the delicate creature proceeded to dance for smug Brusequa.

[writers note: what the shit is this? I'm so fucking tired. I just wanted to write something today. but ...must...sleep. faaaiilling.

sleep]

thick description

"in anthropology now, the term "thick description" refers to a dense accumulation of ordinary information about a culture, as opposed to abstract or theoretical analysis. It means observing the details of life until they begin to coagulate or cohere into an interpretation...I'd like to see thick description make a comeback. Apart from sheer sensuous pleasure, it gives you the comforting feeling that you're not altogether adrift, that at least you have an actual context to enter into and real things to grapple with."

-Anatole Broyard

I think that might be a good idea, for the anthropology of my life.

The red huckleberries that I'm visiting once a week are now starting to bear there gorgeous edible red berries (I do so love shiny red berries that are edible). I left for two weeks and everything has already happened. I missed the budding, flowering process. sad. Things change so quickly, when it's finally time for change. If you're distracted for a moment, you'll miss it's beautiful birth.

I want to dance.

Not my personal, therapeutic dance where I get deeply in touch with how I am feeling and process through it while making deranged faces, sounds, and movements.

My silly, spastic, sexy (usually in turns, not all at once) dancing to semi-bad pop music. Which is therapeutic in it's own way. I like the body. I can, at any time, sink into utter amazement at the very fact that I can move at all, that somehow magically I have control over this flesh puppet referred to as Isaac's Body. And that it can feel so wonderful, to move it to a beat and melody. And that it can be so entertaining, even for me, doing it. I doubt I will ever loose this wonder, or joy, though sometimes I go months or even years, without partaking in it.

Dance is like song: something primal, something with us as long as we had music, something directly linked to heart, to emotions, to the earthen body we live in. Something that lets us express, finally, what we are feeling inside. I should maybe sing more, sing something like how I dance, without words, without premeditation, all heart and now, no lies. it's much more difficult to find a place to sing like that though. With dancing, I just have to make sure nobody can see me. With song, it's hearing, and curtains and walls won't stop the volume of singing I sometimes do. Just as I've never danced the dance of myself in front of anyone else, I've never sung the song of my heart to anyone. When I wanted to sing, i would walk to the park late at night, listen for any sounds, slip deep into a shadowy path, and only then sing, cloaked in the anonymity of the night. Perhaps I'll try that again some time. but for now, dancing is good enough.

It's late, my sickness is in that almost gone but dragging out for a while stage, and my back is sore. Maybe some asanas in the morning. (pet peeve: people calling asanas "Yoga" be precise here people. Its like calling a friend, "mammal" rather than by their first name.

I signed up for a free online dating site called "plenty of fish" several months ago, then ignored it for a while. Now I'm back. It's really fucking weird. You have to wonder, what kind of people use an online dating website? is that really a useful way to meet people? I also have to ask myself, do I really want a girlfriend, out here? There is something in me that really doesn't want to get emotionally involved with someone if I know it's not going to be long-term and we're going to have to break up, because that sounds cruel. Then again, maybe I should give it a try before making my judgements. Which is why I'm pursuing it in the first place. I kind of feel like I should at least try dating someone, try to make that kind of relationship work, so I can at least become aware of what I need to work on, and what skills I have are good enough. And so I can know if I want that kind of relationship.

I know I want a deep romantic relationship already, but I don't know about the more casual side of it, and I wonder sometimes if I need to learn that as a pass-through stage. I suppose it's always possible I'll just meet some hot girl who I really click with and she automatically likes me too, but I think, if it's important to me, I should do what I can to stack the odds in my favor.

I'm out of toothpaste and am now using stand-ins, like mouthwash and baking soda.

I've been reminded that we use soft addictions, (like Internet, movies, cheap romance novels, cheap romances, etc etc.) to keep from feeling our feelings. And since feeling my feelings is exactly what i want to do, the easiest way there is to simply stop my soft addictions and let what I'm searching for (my feelings) come to me. For as long as I can stand it. And when I want it to stop, I can always go back to emails and erotic harry potter fan fiction.

The Temple of Dance

Went to an ecstatic dance tonight. The guy in charge opened sacred space (he was a bit shamanic), and then put on some good dance tunes, and everyone danced for a few hours in an attractive non-denominational church at the university.

That, my friends, is my kind of religious service.

side note: at first, I was surprised, because there were other guys there, but it turned out that they were all probably gay. Being a straight male dancer is highly unusual. Especially when it's not partner-dance. This is generally a good thing, because you are a rare commodity. But it also means, you will feel alien, in any classes you attend.

And the fact that it's a rare commodity doesn't end up mattering, for me. I don't like doing choreography and I don't try to impress women to get them to like me.

I figure the best policy is to be who you are, and that way, if they still like you, you've just eliminated the number one cause of problems in a relationship: that is, actually getting to know the other person.

:)

Meanwhile I work on improving myself in whatever direction feels right. And by improving myself, I really mean, becoming myself. Improving yourself is a loosing game. In it, you've already decided that you are not good enough as is.

I prefer to assume I am perfect, but I'm not fully expressing my perfect self yet.

That's a winning game.