#warmerclimes

Void,

I FLED the cold brutality of the Urban Northeast for warmer climes. There I found room to stretch, to breathe, and to return. I have written much to document my experiences, and I will release them little by little as I prepare for my next adventure: a residency and an opportunity to re-attempt and re-assess my MAGNUM OPUS at Brooklyn Studios for Dance.

Oh friends, I can feel the birth of spring despite the frigid winds and bitter looks from my neighbors. Persevere!! Imagine that Berkana, nordic rune of new beginnings and rebirth has her hand in our fates!!!

For now, I offer you my recent past and will wait for a new spring….

DESERT MEMOIRS, PART I.

I will never be able to fully understand the bounty that is the Void and it’s infinite voluptuousness…..

In my last post, I released MAGNUM OPUS: Resergere Ex Cineribus in it’s film form. Oh and it was both trial and triumph to create it.

I am barely able to write as I hear the echoes of the Bland.ly tauntings in my head over and over again. They are like ghosts of the night and I cannot get rid of the echoes, they are like a hit song that plays in the deli, deep-bass-ed pop-cultural poison, advocating the casual consumption of women’s bodies and equation of masculine (if there is such a thing) power to the base ability to stay alive more better than anyone else around. I cannot rid my head of these voices. I walk through this city and they become merged with the traffic, with the trains, with the open sidewalk domestic tiffs and the sound of the wind lashing round cement corners.

I am imprisoned inside by the darkness of these opinions, I who have ever been able to disregard the voices of my detractors, I who have been forged by the disbelief of the masses in my ability to carry forth.

I do desperately need silence and the space.

I have been offered a residency in New Mexico, high on the mesas and closer to the blackness of space than this large anthill, this urban warren, at sea-level, waiting to be subsumed by vengeful tides.

I retreat to keshet, to meditate, to inhale deeply the thin air. To await my next creative blossoming. I give thanks to the void for this opportunity. I only hope that it does not prove as empty as its other promises.

All Bee-est,