7 November 2009

Flamenco dancers would make incredible lovers.
One finds themselves holding their breath, captivated by the movements of each finger, each tap. The intricate and asymmetrical technique is a glorious dialect of yearning and passion. You are so indivdually intimate with the performer, so close to their transmission of emotion, the shine on their brown, the normality of their figure. The clapping and singing is seemingly uneven, but represents the complete complexity of human desire. For it is while engulfed in such a recital that the viewer jumps, literally, in their seats - shifts their feet, widens their eyes. What bitter zeal the performers illuminate, sweat falling off of their eyelashes. Every moment is so full of struggle, of antcipation, of affection. And to know, that at one in the morning, after the finale, these men and women, are, well, human. How wonderful, and yet completely mystifying.
In an obscure way, such an experience is how I imagine birth to be - enormous, painful, and yet, in a very sgnficant way, strangely acute. Who would´ve guessed that eighteen years later, this, of all places, is where I would be on November seventh.