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Saturday, Feb. 16, 2002 / 4:21 p.m. ~A Perpendicular Expression of a Horizontal Desire~ Do you ever watch yourself dance? Dance as you do, feel the music, no self consciousness, but watch as you do it. Watch as you dance. I just did, and I look rather unusual. I think. I'm listening to a CD I have no recollection of purchasing. It's called "Futurhythms". It's awfully good. Techno. Dance. It has some old Moby on it, Leftfield, Ohm, The Tripp, Zexos, Sven Vath, people I've never heard of. Oooh, it's good, but I dare you to sit still when you hear it. So I didn't. I thought, man, I'm so fucking skinny, I have these arms I can wrap my middle finger and thumb around, almost all the way up to the elbow, and these elbows that are really saggy from behind when my arm's outstretched, when it hangs to stretch, I mean. I don't think I'm ugly, I think I'm me, and people used to think I was beautiful, and if they do now I'd never know it. But when I dance it's not like I could care.....I couldn't. I move because my body insists. But I imagine me going back one day, to my favorite dance club, worrying about how old I've gotten, worrying about who would see me, what they would think, and would I worry once there. Drink a Bass to get going, to loosen inhibitions, and no, I don't think anything could matter. Or I can stay here, and dance all I want, and watch me in the mirror and think that yes, I move to the beat exactly, I have no problem feeling it, my fingers, my hands follow it and any melody, my hips and shoulders carry the beat, the rhythm, I feel it with my whole body, and I truly do believe that being in my, oh, what's it called???, when you can't stop moving???, but being there, in that, came from numerous Dead shows attended. And the final time when I tripped at a Dead show. To know that groove, to never leave it, to find your own, hold it, close your eyes and know that you're gone, lost inside it. How can you care if you're fat or skinny, if you dance like no one else you've ever seen before, if your hands are doing something you are not even controlling, your fingers are in the air painting the rhythm on the ceiling, you smile, you inhale deeply, you're running out of breath, but you find more, somewhere, and if you're in a club, you find that person who feels it like you do, that man, that woman, and you dance up to him, to her, you dance behind her, watch her hips move in time with yours, you look him in the eye, you wonder what it would be like to fuck him, or her, because as George Bernard Shaw once said, "Dancing is a perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire." And my body moves as I sit here and type this. This song is called, "A Great New Adventure", by Q.B.N.Z. May I highly recommend it? Okay then. I had to get up, dance my way to the stereo. Now I'm back. Obviously. I wrote an entry earlier, but I was trying to test a link I was using and my Netscape froze, nothing was happening at all, and it killed me, well, it bothered me, but I had to shut down, reboot. It's gone. What had I written? Oh, well, wait, I may have to go dance again. Be right back...... Okay. I feel the need to describe this. Some people cannot dance to this kind of "music". They don't see it as music at all, they don't "hear" it, not for what it is. It's rhythm, it's sounds, computer generated or not, it's not like swaying to a melody, there is no top side, no melody, it's low, it's primal, it's the body, not the mind, this is not thinking, this is losing the mind's processes, feeling, this is like sex. Shaw was right. Oh, I had written earlier of eating 15 miniature Shumai (pork dumplings) in bed at midnight, the taste of pork and garlic and green onion lingering after I'd brushed my teeth. Of watching Colin Farrell touching Dave Letterman, his tattoo jumping around on his arm as he gesticulated wildly, his Irish accent blowing me away, the scratches all over his hands, his knuckles, the intense desire to know why. And Colin Quinn doing this very clever post 9.11 standup, but so obviously reading off cue cards, me changing the channel in anger because I hate seeing people read off cue cards, seeing people depend on them like that, especially during standup! That's just fucked! And that's why I seldom watch "Saturday Night Live", regardless of content. Hate the cue cards. If you were here I'd ask you to dance. Come, dance with me. Come on. I remember taking Kukla to said favorite dance club, her sitting at the bar, falling asleep, me unable to stop, but finally coming to her side, hey, are you sleeping? Do you want to go? B. used to keep up with me, and I loved him for that. Loved him. B., I'm feeling it, come dance with me, okay, he says, let me get another beer, holding it in his hand, dancing with me, and it never stops, the music, just shifts, one beat to another, the DJ takes us higher, and higher, and brings us back down, and my knees start to hurt, he lights a joint and we smoke, pass it around, we're dancing, we don't stop, until we're in pain. When we walk out, the sun is almost up, we reek of cigarettes, sweat, beer. I can hardly walk. Only dance. The one night I slept with him because my keys were locked in my car. We spooned under the sheet, me hard, steeled, don't touch me, don't even try. I will NOT fuck you, no. You are my FRIEND. And I don't fuck friends. Only lovers........ I wonder if I'll ever go back. Can I ever go there again? Just to have a Bass, and to dance? Can my knee handle it? This water-on-the-knee knee? Fluid swollen up around the kneecap. Can this knee dance? Will I ever talk to B. again? Too many questions. No thoughts, only music, only rhythm. No answers. I wrote something else, earlier, gone, I asked if anyone who reads this had gone to Confession.diaryland.com. Did you read it? G'head, read it, all of it, beginning to end, tell me what you think, okay?? I'm dying to know. I also wanted to send you to the free weekly paper, online, to get you to read my favorite columnists, Hollis Gillespie and Jane Catoe, but the link fried my computer, so I hesitate to send you there. Try it anyway. If you have a decent PC, unlike this one, you should be fine. Look for the columns, the regular writers, Andisheh Nouraee, I think is how you spell it, he's very funny and smart, and Hollis and Jane. Tell me what you think, if you go. And if you read the cover story on the "Athens Music Scene". I had written about that too, my own experience with the "Athens Music Scene", in 1981. About living with A., playing house, regretting it later, but at the time we had fun, taking Quaaludes, snorting cocaine, skinny dipping in the river, and lying on the rocks, having sex in the daylight, in the sun, taking pictures, riding bikes on wooded trails, before "mountain biking" was an idea in anyone's head. The parties, the studying, the music, the clubs....it was a good time I should not regret. I've got to find my way through this day. Right now all I can think of is dancing. Oh, let me add this, not for shock value, but because it's my diary. I felt the inside of my vagina last night, for the first time in a long time. It's fascinating. Sometimes we need to set the tools aside and feel with our fingers.... Cost of the War in Iraq
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