Tuesday, February 26, 2008

And it all comes down...

There are moments when everything feels okay. They are few and usually come in the form of some frantic feeling, something intangible and fleeting, that you can only confirm in your own mind. They don't translate well, you can't really talk about them or write about them, at least not clearly. You only know they exist because you feel this sudden rush of energy where before everything was so sterile. We do things, we walk around all day following some pattern or schedule or some other artificial order we create to hold our lives together, and every once in a while we feel this energy, and everything is okay. Yeah, there are moments of complete impotence when we have this drowning sensation, or when we feel like we just need to cry but know we won't because you can't do that in polite society without making people feel uncomfortable. There are these atrophied images that run through our minds like cream-based soup, washing over our thoughts and dimming our coherence--snow-blinded almost. We are like infants slipping through our fragile veils of blood and slime, coming into a light that we are not at all ready for, and so everything just becomes a blur...a slow and steady blur and when we realize that this is a blur but that this is also our proper life there are these moments of intense sadness that can't be conveyed or explained.

But then I had started this thing by saying that everything can feel okay. Everything I do does not have to be some sort of choreographed movement and in a way nothing I do is a choreographed movement. What I create in my life is so spectacularly bizarre (as is what everyone creates) that even the strictest schedule is rendered ironic. One of the best things that ever happened to me was taking a modern dance class because being on a stage doing improv is like condensing a day's worth of movement into one, tiny fragment. It's terribly frightening because you have no idea what your body is doing or what it will do next. It's this abandonment that seems almost sinful, as if there you are, nude, bleeding, puking, shitting, doing all these things you might read about in Naked Lunch. But it's really just acknowledging that things, as frantic as they are, are really alright.

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