The Bureau is into antiquated forms of archiving
I used to really believe in improvisation
These days I’m not so sure
It seems to involve a lot of aimless, awkward fumbling
I think life is awkward fumbling
It’s only better to be the person who can get a urinary tract infection (you know) before you get it
But now you’re only wearing one shoe
It isn’t even yours
The eyes never follow the score
You still don’t understand
What does that feel like?
It doesn’t feel immutable
End. End. End. End.
Isn’t difference a relentless condition?
This past December 31st I was really sick
Remember? We were sitting across from each other on couches
Someone was playing the piano
When you whisper like that
The walls of the studio white but not clean
It’s a good line
The disorganized body doesn’t have to be physical
The curator from Amsterdam walks in, walks out
A fancy black dress and flip flops aren’t for everyone
Oh. Oh. It doesn’t look as hot outside as it is
This is the other dance we make, again
Finding the actual shape of your ass in your loose cotton pants.
So many questions. Can the body truly be disorganized with intent? Why is it so difficult to resist the desire to make something into something? Why is the world of the studio always richer than the world of the stage? Will our society get back the ability to measure time and to be in time or is that only nostalgia to believe we ever had it? It seems to me that most people use words the way most people use their bodies—moving, not dancing.
Why are we so hard on ourselves?
Is empathy actually possible?
The helicopter whirs past, again and again. What if it were always the same helicopter? People never see how beautiful they are, and sometimes they are not beautiful. If you’re more intelligent than she is, does it follow that you should be happy? Perhaps we draw the wrong conclusions. There is no one to impress. The man outside takes pictures with his camera. And then inside, of us.
That people still have cameras. That people think they can capture anything at all.
Is there an us, waiting to be seen? I don’t want to just muddle through.
Now I dive into my page.
I’m not a trained experimental dancer. Which by definition doesn’t require training.
Overheard at the Bureau: