Dancing about Architecture
Like a rainfall these words hit me on days that become so unusual they become their own notable holidays, “writing about music is like dancing about architecture”. I looked it up to try to find the source & the source was many & no one can prove who said it first but dancing about architecture makes more sense. I’ve been dancing since I was born red shoes or not, dancing through lives forlorn through images of buildings & temples that elevated the soul. The dance is the only act that freed my mind but without it’s internal music would dance be anything & would writing be anything if not the memory that kept it all alive. For moments lived in a vacuum of nothingness, exhilaration & peace that become a complete freeing of the soul like a dove flying in its expression of freedom itself. I think of ’68 Mexico as students died by the hundreds after hundreds of doves were set free. Soldiers stopped firing at the whole scene of the soul becoming. Can the song be sung alone, can feet dance without ground, can we fly as two tongues, french kiss into a mesmerizing abandon of a conversation incoherently & invariably intimate. How dance becomes more intimate than being within ourselves. The kiss of movement & the thought of touch, long live it in song, in a gasp of a moan of exaltation of a stop of a tango longing in its way to tease the longing once more. The longing we were born with satiated by our lover & its memoir. As a line askews the sight of the built environment, buildings burst into skyline dominating sky in a wish to be their own. The straight lines on the floor, the yellow lines of the road curving out of sight, so dance leans in an effervescent breath towards its longing, its expansion. The reckoning of bones & flesh to stretch & sway, stretch & soothe the reckless soul in its entrapment. The body longs to free the soul & that is the birth of dance. Not a single thought of its commencement, like the said beginning of the universe in a dance forever, to be constant in its movement. The feeling reeling from within, whatever limbs it catches in space & time come crashing, moving like a tree set free in wind. The search for a partner in the plight of life to search & be found in dance. Dance is the becoming of the heart & while therein it blooms, eradicates all notions of self & bounds.
The self is free!
We stop dancing when we realize these limbs were moving, this skin & muscle moved them, a sense of embarrassment stops us in our becoming freedom.
Oh to lose it all again be nothing in the wind expressed by everything that was not flesh but life & breath itself.
The Los Angeles Press 