Writing

Article on Erika Tsimbrovsky/AVY K Productions’s Ruah Aduma/Red Wind for Dancer’s Group SF (2017):

Exploring the Horizon: The Red Wind Within Us

Excerpt spit + scotch tape (2018):

“Maybe disappointment is wonder disguised in unpleasant flavors. 

We’re all wandering around with broken hearts

Wandering this earth picking up our broken parts

Wondering at the wonders as we wander

What is all this suffering, maybe I’m blessed (Bill T Jones.)

But the heart wants what it wants and I must endure these painful growing pains elegantly.

Come on baby, don’t be nice, be true

I woke up at 3am because my heart has expanded its size and my ribs don’t have room to handle the growing pains. I replay the actions in my mind, enjoying their resonance, savoring them, regretting the chances I didn’t take and all the things I want to do again

for

    IT’S NOT WHAT I WANTED BUT IT’S WHAT I NEEDED

The stories we tell ourselves

The truths we hide

Who was present at the death of christ 

Who fought the wars

Where do you come from

Who are you

I remember dances that I love, combinations that live between my fascinating fascia, in the memories of my breath, between my ribs.

But the steps fade, the feeling remains

What feeling? Is this freedom?

Is it sadness? Yearning? Churning? Burning?

Why am I hell bent on living my life as a Milan Kundera character?

Why am I addicted to an ever breaking heart?

Is this a way of feeling? Of cutting myself? Of remembering what lies underneath? 

When the steps of the dance are gone, when the notes to the music have no sound, what remains? 

TRACES

Your form and feeling are but traces in my memory

A outline

A plan

A rubric

Memory becomes a projected blueprint for the future, a impossible probability, a fantasy

FANTASIA

Shame comes in many colors, many flavors

Can it be addicting? Can disappointment be addicting?

Memory is better than the real thing. 

But is it though?

Possibility is addicting.

Impossible possibility even more so.”

Excerpt Voyage (2014):

“and Oh, Patrick’s a pretty boy, a pretty pretty pretty pretty boy

I wish he had some ploy, malicious intent

for this dent

he’s dealt me

but he doesn’t

he can’t

he’s also afloat

on this voyage, this flooding

down love

being rowed by want and battered by desire

ship full of fools we forgot to pack the lifejackets

and our love should be like a dance were we get lost in the rhythm and flow and music, man and we could get lost, let go

But I freeze, I tighten, I spaz, I grip

I fear feeling the floor beneath me slip

I’m not dancing, I’m posing for a picture

So this may be one never ending trip.”

Excerpt sugar and sand (2014):

“I stepped on something soft in the dark, I’m pretty sure it was my heart but I kept walking, there was no stopping to check it out. 

For I have nothing but want for the wrong things that have spread their wings between my legs and ears.

I tap my fingers against the glass as I watch happiness pass

I want to want more, I want to trust what’s in store, for me, but I know the world’s a bitch 

who

won’t 

let

me

be

you see

I want

but not enough

I got caught on fear’s diamond cuff

Because no matter where I go,

No matter who I bother,

I can’t get away from the sin’s of my fathers

Because you’re not guilty until you know you are

I’ve got a white woman’s worry, so I do everything in a hurry

I’m running out of time time time

But I’m just fine fine fine

Just go faker, faster faster

Because you’re not guilty until you know you are

Because you didn’t want enough.

You lived in ecstasy

You were content

By fifteen you knew you were spent,

You were done.

there was no more fun 

to be had

tired of the sun

you decided to live in your head instead.”

Excerpt Binge and Purge (2012):

“I take the dress. It flops in my hand, a limp, unapologetic thing, giving me no comfort. In a flood, I regret everything I have ever eaten, my breakfast, the water I drank before class, and more.  I regret middle school bake sales and Halloween candy, I regret vegan lasagna and milkshakes, I regret apples, rice, pasta, cheesecake, carrots and tofu. Do you know how many calories a glass of juice has?

Maybe I should start throwing up.

Here. Now. On this dress. This dress that makes me hate myself and what myself wants, needs. Vomit on the cheap polyester satin, chipping plastic rhinestones and bows, everything. All my bile and my worry smeared on a thing to which I am committed, a costume, this costume, its waist line, not mine. My borders are predefined by this pink thing, this tulle boned monster that hugs me. Vomit I can do, and it will not and could not stop there for every morning I step into the tutu, praying, weeping, blubbering myself up for want to fit. You can most want what you abhor.”