I think it's time I started believing in God

For a minute, I actually hoped I never would have been introduced to the art of - ooooh, wait for it - dance. Precious dance. Then came the minute after the first one, and I wanted to quit.

Class today was good. Really good. But it hurts too much. To love something with everything you've got. And not have it entirely, to just have a portion of it. It hurts like hell. The dreams of which I'm dying are the best I've ever had. Damn, I should get that tattooed on my forehead.

Everytime I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise. What if I'm not cut out for this, huh? What if I can't handle all this, did you think of that? What if I'll just end up crumbling into small pieces? I don't have the glue to fix that. To fix me.

This is where God steps in.

I never entertained the possibility that everything might burn. That everything might end up totally fucked up. That I could actually lead myself to the edge of the cliff and not think twice before jumping towards my sad, yet inconsequential, end. I never thought of it as a possibility. Not as vividly as I do now. There it is, standing in front of me, staring me in the eyes. Unabashed. Brutal. And so real.

I want to walk away. Say cheerio and sayonara to everything I know. Just because. I. Am. Scared. I've never been so scared in my life. Why does running away seem like the embodiment of redemption? Where is my will to fight?

That particular will is imprisoned by fear and lifelessness that have taken over.

I need someone on my side. To fight my battles, just for a while. Just until I can stand on my own again. Could that be you, God? Could I ask for your help? Or will you condemn me and my improper request, say it's nothing but pagan poetry?

I don't know what would harm me and what would help me. Maybe no one does. But why does this oblivion tear my up inside?


God, I don't know what to do.

HUOMIO HUOMIO UUSI ULOTTUVUUS HAVAITTU

Oltiin kuin pikkulapsia. Hypeltiin ja leikittiin. Tönittiin ja kaaduttiin. Vedettiin ja nojattiin. Ja laji on Partnering Work.

Puolitoista tuntia pelleilyä sopi tälle perjantaille. Hell, mille päivälle se ei sopisi? Milloin on väärä aika opetella kuuntelemaan toista ihmistä, repiä kädestä, ohjata huoneen poikki, kuunnella omalla kropalla ohjeita?

Hiki virtasi ja läppä lensi. Reidet kutkutteli ja keskusta työskenteli. Lattia otti vastaan ja kaveri antoi tukea. 

Vitun siistiä, ja helvetin hauskaa. Vaikka on hyvin tiedossa, että tanssi on kontaktilaji, useimmilla tunneilla kuitenkin fiilistellään yksin ilman fyysistä kontaktia. Fokus auki, muita varotaan ja kuunnellaan. Don't get me wrong, I fucking love it to bits. Mutta silloin keskittyminen kuitenkin kohdistuu enemmän tai vähemmän omaan napaan.

Nyt yhdessä luomisen meininki nostettiin uudelle tasolle. Frendiä ei välttämättä varottu, vaan testattiin hänen rajoja. Testattiin omia rajoja. Nojattiin toiseen ja yhdessä varottiin kaatumista. Jos kaaduttiin, niin molempien perseet oli lattiassa. Luotettiin sokeasti, tai ainakin siihen pyritään. 

Ups ups sori [enter cliché here], mutta pakko sanoa (tai toistaa, saattanut joskus jo hehkuttaa ihkuttaa keikuttaa tätä ajatusta): opettele tanssia, opettele elämää. Ne eivät ole toisistaan irrallaan olevia asioita. Kaikki sulautuu samaan. Sen minkä oppii elämässä voi soveltaa tanssiin, ja hei hei shocker (!), tanssissa opitut asiat vaikuttavat siihen miten elämäänsä elää. Riskin ottoa, läsnäoloa, itsensä tuntemista, muiden kuuntelua, vaikuttamista ja vaikutetuksi tulemista. Tanssi ja elä, elä ja tanssi. Vitun siistiä, ja helvetin hauskaa.

Speak Whisper Shout Yell

Not all walking is just walking. It can have meaning. It can show a side of you. Everyone does it differently. Everyone shifts their weight from side to side differently. Eveyone shakes their head differently. Everyone collapses differently. Everyone lifts their hands up differently. Everyone moves differently. And why? Because everyone has a different story to tell.

Contemporary dance is a medium for telling your story. The means of expression are infinitive. You can be different every single time. No two dances are the same. It's never the same. You are never the same. You change constantly and so does your story.


What do you want to say? What is your story? What is it that you want to say?

Find a way to tell your story. Then the job is already half done. Write it, sing it, whisper it, play it, dance it, smile it, cry it. You have to be able to speak when you have something to say. Leave your mark. Tell your story. That's what all this is about. You have one lifetime to tell your story.

Go.

3 a.m.

And you can't live like this. Admit to it. It makes no sense.

What are you even doing? Fall to the floor was the answer. Me on my knees like a dancer. Huh, yeah sure. You do that.

Having a hard time believing you were here? No surprise there, you hardly were.

Is it ever enough? Are you ever enough? How many pirouettes do you need? How much do you have to stretch? Sure, there might be a line between enough and not enough, but do you actually believe you will be crossing that?

Que sera sera. I asked my mother what will I be. Will I be pretty will I be rich. What is it that she said to me?

I fear unhappiness. Never ending never changing unhappiness. And you can't live like this. 

Leave

Z i p   m y   m o u t h   s h u t
G l u e   m y   e y e s   c l o s e d
P i n c h   m y   n o s e 
A n d   c o v e r   m y   e a r s

H o l d   m e   d o w n
L e t   m e   f e e l   y o u r   w e i g h t
W a i t   u n t i l   I   s t o p   m o v i n g
T h e n   l e a v e
L e t   g o   o f   e v e r y t h i n g
A n d   l e a v e 

calm before the storm

i spy with my little eye a 180 turn ahead. it's letting closer. the rollercoaster is reaching the top. the wind is getting stronger. and i cannot do anything but sit and wait.

i'm about to move. not too far away. but my postal code will change. hell, my city will change. and i love my city the way it is. but sometimes an offer you cannot say no to gets in the way. 

i'm going to university. to study something utterly hideous. it's temporary, i keep telling my self. only temporary.

i can't even begin to describe my dance shenanigans (gotta love frasier's vocabulary). my plans are more open than the legs of a common hooker.  there are several outcomes, but one thing is for sure; i will be dancing a lot. and then some. can't wait for this semester to start off, 

                          dance-wise, 

                                                     at least.

Insomnia by Wintersleep

I will not grow tired
of crayon stars and fire
the sunlight has punctured
tiny holes of life

I closed my eyes
I held my breath
I prayed for light
and gasped for oxygen
it wasn't there
I couldn't see
to scare the shadow out of me
I couldn't sleep

My head's spinning. It's filled with I don't even know what. Voices. Yes, oh yes, I hear voices (!)

I am tired. Right here right now I am tired as hell. And at the same time I get these impulses. Mental impulses cross over to physical ones. Impulses reminding me about something. Unfinished business. Ordeals which are yet to come. Small things. Big things. Huge things. Gigantic things. 

Confused and lost. Losing my ficking mind. 

Breathe, I say then. Just try to sleep, I say even later. Yet, I can't. I couldn't sleep.

Release Technique

I had the most amazing moment today. During impro. I let everything go. Just let it go. And  let it all show, whatever the hell you have inside of you. Just let it go. Just let it the fuck go.

I hadn't felt that purity in a while, and I didn't even remember how much I missed it. It's one of the things I live for. Like floating (I know this isn't the most original metaphor so shut it). You work your way up, through movement, and then something happens. You realize you don't care anymore. You realize you don't feel anymore. You realize you don't have to think anymore. You realize what you are and who you are. What you are made of. 

It's the same as crying your heart out. It's the same as laughing your ass off up to the point where your lungs simply can't take it anymore. It's the same as having a strong arm around you and being able to feel another heartbeat. It's the same as lighting a cigarette at a party where everyone's drunk out of their minds and you feel like sitting outside for a moment. Inhaling and exhaling that smoke. Letting go. Lowering your shoulders from your ears, relaxing your muscles, feeling a breeze and forgetting yourself in it. It's all the same. Agreed, the forms of manifestation may vary, and the level of comprehensiveness, sure.

Handing yourself over to gravity. Handing yourself over to another person. Handing yourself over to yourself. Everything. Not giving a rat's ass how it may look like. Giving up the pain or suffering you're carrying with you. Giving up the hopes and dreams that secretly harm you. Giving up the expectations that have taken you as their victim. Just giving up. 

Allowing yourself to break. Allowing yourself to shine. Allowing yourself everything. To infinity and beyond. 

I am not one of those people with a stick up their ass. I am not the one who sits quietly, when others are taking another round. I am not the one who smiles silently and kindly. That just makes me sick. I am one of those people who screw up from time to time, and then some. Before thinking, doing it twice. I am the one who sits on someone's lap just to have a sip of their drink. I am the one who talks too loudly on the phone on the subway.

Still I have a hell of a time of revealing my scars. Still I have never been able to say, "I need you" to another human being. Not even to those who I love. Not even to those who I know love me back.

But in that moment. When I didn't care. When I let everything go. When a huge weight was lifted from me allowing me to move again. In that moment, I was bare. I was vulnerable, easy to hurt. I was happy.        I      was      happy.

Kuin rätti lavuaarissa

Sosiaaliset vaatekaapit ja lipastot kaipaavat niin maan perkeleellistä kesäsiivousta, että Cillit Bang alkaa jo ryömiä komerosta keskelle lattiaa, korkki auki käyttövalmiina. Syksy näyttää uudelta ja kimaltelevalta, enkä halua raahata ihmissuhdehaamujen täyttämiä jätesäkkejä mukanani.

Puhdas pöytä. Mutta saatana kun keittiö on täynnä paskaisia lautasia ja laseja. Miten helvetissä ne voi jättää huomioimatta? Paljonko hyötyä on sitruunan tuoksuisesta tulevaisuudesta, jos saattajana on ruuantähteiden paskainen lemu?

Kaikkia tiskejä ei vaan voi tiskata. And there's no such thing as "puhdas lika".

Out with the old and in with the new. Nyt olisi sen aika. Uusi tulee väkisinkin, riippumatta siitä kuinka tiukasti vanha on kääriytynyt keskivartalon ympärille.

Syksyssä suurimpana vastaanottajana on treenit. Uudet ihanat kujeet ja mahdollisuudet. Rakkaita armaita tuttuja lajeja, uusia outoja hämmentäviä lajeja. Odotan odotan odotan teitä, tulkaa luokseni kullanmurut ennen kun lihasvoima katoaa toimettomuuden paineen alla.

Vähemmän tärkeänä (miltei vastenmielisenä?) kohdattavana on uusi opiskelupaikka, elättäjä. Fiksut voivatkin lukea rivien välistä sen julman totuuden, että joudun tyytymään opiskelupaikkaani. Eli ujot unelmat haistattivat pienet paskat - ainakin vuodeksi. Onneksi tanssi on kurkistanut uusien kadun kulmien takaa, ja voin vain toivoa saavuttavani edes muutaman pilkistävän pärstän ennen kun ne katoavat.

Hiphei heissulivei, jaksetaan vielä huomiseen.