earplugs and other choreographic notes/BITS notes

Miranda July wears earplugs when she writes. Something about hypnosis.... would that work for me? To wear earplugs. Would it bother the dancers if they were trying to speak to me. Would I shout?
What about hypnosis? How do I create that immersion within the creative act, that way of shutting out the judgements and really getting some solid work done.

My objectives: to live in Berlin and have a dance space in my living space and work everyday with tea and good lighting and the ability to yell and fly and do all those things that my work includes.

Upcoming works:
"A little hit of excellence"

Other thoughts:
On failure.
Recently I was told by a group of professionals that I had essentially failed them. I was furious. I was livid. They didn't understand my work, all I had done, all that I had accomplished! But really, what's so bad about being told I have failed?... nothing. In fact, failure is one of the most important professional responsibilities I have. It is one of the most humbling, grounding experiences and it reflects that I am aligned with my most valued philosophies on making art: invite others to see me, take risks, be uncomfortable, make a mess of things- and then  from there, the work is. From there, I can discover and craft (yes, I used the word craft!) my art. I think failure is an inherent aspect of the way that I make work. And maybe this upsets others. Maybe it disappoints people, even the people who support me. How can I not feel incredibly guilt when a handful of respectful people have offered me a great amount of trust and support and money to make art, respond by turning their heads down and to the side, shaking them rhythmically, arms crossed, sighing deeply. Oh, "I am sorry" I want to utter once my anger subsides. "I am so sorry. I won't do it again."... then, I think, "shit!... I gotta get out of here..... I blew it."

Failure is an incredible thing to look at, observe, think over. And it is so important to me to celebrate failure. To say, look, look, I did it. I took risks. I made a mess, I felt totally uncomfortable, AND furthermore, I let you see it all. And nowwwwww, there are stunning developments in the project; the project that no longer has any support, the project that is brimming with energy and potential. Is it only I that can see this? Do these handful of respectable professionals not trust chaos? Is it a Catalan thing (because frankly I am tired of attributing everything to Catalans, lets move beyond that aspect of identity, shall we)?
I think, it is a me thing (really, I think that because it is the only powerful way I have to look at the situation).
So, my part. Hmmm.... I need to show you something.

come here, give me your hand.

This way.... here put this glitter on your forehead, it reflects the light and makes it easier to see everything.


are your palms sweating, or is that me? Oh, yeah, maybe it's me, I get excited for how beautiful it all is.
do you hear that? reminds me of witches masturbating. (chuckle and wink).

come on, stay with me.

(time passes here)


oh, wow. look at that. I love how the blueness of mountains explains distance, explains profoundness. They are so still.



And lemons! There are lemons and they ran so fast to the frontier between us and them, the way that lemons do; the way that the juice of a lemon surges into the cracks of your mouth, the juice enters all those abandoned territories of your mouth, the way a kiss could never do.... those little deformed wedges in a row at our feet, marking what was, what we shared: that surge that a kiss could never do. the wedges are our memory.

hey! are you watching? do you see them, they aren't prepared. they are just responding now. and it is kind of.... touch and go? I don't know.. how does this make you feel? Did you notice how the musician doesn't even realize how transparent she is? how she just shows you with all the pleasure, because she knows that everything she is doing is just beautiful.

are we still holding hands. why did you let go? holding hands is important. it's im-port-ant. (here, I look you in the eyes, you look back). (**also, Ursa, the blond one, she could look into your eyes and say, "po-tay-toe.")

there is more I wanna show you. Remember how every time you go to visit you parents house, you look through those awkwardly thick photo albums with the pleather covers? And there are all these moments captured. Some of them planned and other candid. And then it reminds you of the webcam on your mac and all the excessive posing we do during the cracks in our day. And we always want to know one thing: how does this look?

and these cracks of conscious pose are becoming more and more. But I also like the cracks in the day where we are posing but we don't know it. Like the singing we do, the things we say with so much conviction that all we hear is the conviction. Conviction is a lovely sound.

(time passes again here. we are just watching)

those witches. Did you realize they are also the mountains in your homeland. and they are the lemons at your feet. those witches are your territory, the earth you walk on. they are.better than kissing They are in your family photo albums. and you keep them in a neat little aluminum sardine can where you can peel back the lid and stroke the hilly blue curves. And you never misplace this sardine can, because the glitter on your forehead makes the little aluminum territory flicker.

Write Like That.

changes
happen in colors.
in patches of color, they mutate and dance like laundry on balconies in sun and wind.
Sometimes i am taken in awe by them-I am stopped in my tracks. these changes are irrevocable.

Changes.
happen when I don't have my glasses on (hence the patches of color).
like the time life turned you upside down, and like a bat you found me in the night sky.
Cris just posted on Facebook that I had an eclipse and maybe you lost sight of me.
But I am there in my vast open sky with patience and endless suspension.

Changes.
happened when we were too busy to notice.
And they came in deep and strong.
like the cancer that just wouldn't go away.

we all tried everything.

these changes slipped-in in the night when we were sleeping and Oscar witnessed it happen.

Now, I have carpal tunnel. And when I try to hold things or lift weight, my muscle gives out and the thing I am holding falls from me.
my hands hurt and they are empty. I let them hang by my side without agenda because you taught me to relax my arms.

I will take off my glasses just to see these patches of color dancing in the wind. I will cross the baja desert in the night sky and laugh with the stars because I know Gaston is there. And with my empty relaxed open arms, I will allow for your hand to take mine, but for now, I cannot hold yours- it is just too painful. I think carpal tunnel goes away and if I take care of it, I will be able to hold hands again with the hand that is there.

i dont mind if you see me 2

i promise if you stay, i will stun you. I will stop you in your tracks.your cells will shift and your skin will open it´s eyes. your mouth will part and your breathe will linger in your lungs.

and i will irrovocably change you.

if you stay

i don´t mind if you see me

I am extrememly mediocre at dance it seems. But what´s more impacting is that I am really blunt at presenting myself. I have little motivation for it. I don´t mind if you see me. You can see where I suck and where I might be brilliant but also concerning. It´s ok with me if I fall under your expectations of what success is or good dance is or good writing is. This is me. It´s all I have and I trust honesty more than anything else.

Immersion into the seas of mankind, I find intimacy, but I also find...love.

i love you. i love that you saw me like that and like this. and i love that you stayed and that you left.

Bah! So many things I need to tell YOU!

Before-FIRST: I really really want lesbian music, a porch, a pack of cigarettes, a miller highlife, and my lesbo friends.... NOW.

FIRST: I live in Sant Pere.. and there is a lot of dog shit in the streets of this adorable neighborhood. ANd I often think to myself, while strolling to the bakery, ¨Why dont people want to pick up their dog´s shit?¨ Then, just the other day, I noticed that in my neighborhood is El Centre de Gent Gran (or something along these words). And, then I looked around, only to observe all the dogs were owned my OLD PEOPLE. These old Barcelona cats have been walking on cobble stones for years.....they can´t bend over. not even in the bedroom, and fersher not in the street. Picking up dog shit could initiate a heartattack or something or break a hip. And then I thought, ¨Shit. someone needs to open a pooper scooper shop in Sant Pere.¨ Dance or PooperScooper Shop? My career is honestly at a crossroads.

SECOND: It´s thoughts on the Barcelona dance scene and a the lil scensters out there that i am getting to know. lol. BIDE--- what is it with us? Why do we think it is a good idea to create an exchange where each dance professional has to pay to exchange their ideas with others? DO we have some kind of karma or wierd complex about paying for the work we do, instead of making money. We can´t even hang out and benfit from each other without paying someone else. Also, emergents. emerging. there. be there. scene it out and if you dont, you dont exist. This is another complex in the adult world in general. We are like the kids at the clubs, dressed to impress and hoping to be noticed, hoping to confirm our existence in the world. Am I still a dancer if, instead of going to the dance event, I stay at home in my underwear, eat peanut butter out of a jar and touch myself...twice.? Cause sometimes I don´t want to go to the dance thing. And the dance my hand does is far more exciting to me.

THIRD: uuuh, I LOVE MY FAMILY!

FOURTH: well. basically I saw Olga Tragant´s solo and then the following night I went to Mercat de les Flors and saw Los Corderos. Whoa. different, and next to each other, even more so.

Tragant´s solo: great lighting. eery. possibly self-indulgent. and stress-inducing. Some beautiful images and they stayed with me. Text that is still stuck in my head. I really like the lighting.

Los Corderos: well... they talked in Spanish the whole time, with some eng translation (though I don´t think resignated is a word). they were out there in space, moving and responding, and inviting being seen. It was beutiful. And worth seeing twice. The ending was not as strong as it could have been. And there were moments that were over-stimulating. But, what was great was, the depth wasn´t seeked out. it was just there in the surface. And we were there and they were there and we saw eachother, heads were turned. and what ever they were doing, was the thing.

Bueno, gent. hi ha esta. gràcies per llegir axiò.

Lucy and another poem

gold and tiny.
the dependability of your hard round head between my fingers
your smile and your small wings
i found you in the street, unnoticed, but shining
and i took you joyfully and put you warmly in my pocket.
i keep you there and you keep me safe.
oh little lucy.
oh little lucy.

_____________________

doing lots of things. making lots of dance. meeting lots of people. people people. it doesnt interest me what you do nor what sign you are.
you are. you are.
you are an other
among others.
you a warrior too, no? like me. I have fought impassioned battles.
and we put our weapons down and reach for each other instead.

And you know, these days... the tears come.
and my fire of insecurity makes a well-lite room.
and within that light, i see my love for myself.
and my love for you. it is also there, in this room.

room. room for what. making room. making dances. making room for dance and dancing for rooms. and teaching English for rooms.
for food.
for you. and for this light.
for this fire of insecurity and gives so much light.

the primitiveness of fire. the fires we built in the night with poision oak.
and your lungs swelled and mine did not
and when the fire brings you to the edge. and I stand there at the edge and it makes me drop my pelvis.
my knees cough and air comes in.
and i can live there on the edge like this, with breathing knees.
because we do it anyway. we are there. we are all there.

2011

Coffee, banana, almonds, mosquito bites, fog, christmas belly, inner fog, anticipation.

thursday...
friday,
monday,
...
dad's birthday,
...
lecture,
...
workshops,
paid,
pay,
work,
dance everyday project continues,
proud,
angry,
scared... angry,
jealous,
birthday,
dates,
workshop,
not my birthday,
paid,
pay,
perform,
save,
tired,
work hard,
bi-continental,
something... anything,
hump,
closer,
jealous,
proud,
sad,
angry,
closer,
heat,
sunshine,
dates,
PDED continues,
crisis,
blast off.