1001 Disco Days

Slow dance through the cemetery this morning. As if I were hazily waking up into the world. There was some dancing yesterday, On the way home, after I visited Leonardo da Vinci and Goya and Poe at the Morgan Museum. And some the day before as I listened to earliest Rolling Stones vinyl in the basement with the girls. All of these together comprise one salad. Dancing w Lucia Da Vinci's sublime study Tree at the cemetery The most horrible found art ever stumbled over on way home. And yet...

This morning's dance responding to Darin Stevenson's poem on FB. The People Who Are Gone Oh people of my bones. Your thunder is my skull. Your blood makes my breathing live. Dead minds with guns buried your millions. For sport, to kill with metal seeds. For laughter. Oh people of my bones. I will be your body now. My face will be your faces! Your eyes are all my starry wings. The People of the Hooves! Your thunder is my heartbeat. My soul will be your flying stars! Why did they make you dead? Who were the monsters bathed in red? I cannot live without your thunder. Oh people of my bones, my breath! The Bison People! My people! Make me be your voices! RESPONSE "Thunder is my skull" Not in my skull. Is my skull.  The thunder reverberates and  becomes the ossified frame of my brain where terrible lines of rhyme bang around: "Red hooves run roughshod  on the sod of my brain  followed by 40 days  and nights of rain." The drum so loud it...

Melissa Ivey and Josh Abeyta, friends from Denver, came with me this morning to the bone yard. My first guest stars. So much fun. We ended up singing some doo wop over the beats as we danced and rapping about our "Riff Raff Club". They were inspired to start a sunrise graveyard dance in Denver, Riff Raff Club, Midwest chapter. I hope they do. Stopping for a "swim" at the pool on way to cemetery. Watching full moon rise over Doughboy Park...

Mist rising from the graves. My heart knows how to fly. Green and blue Asics against black asphalt. Shouting, "Where is my black Cinderella!"

I danced on the way to poetry reading with the Spectacular Simone White and Lytle Shaw at the Zinc bar. Then again on the way to the Black Swan record release party at Bhakti Cafe, then at DROM for APAP showcase. So it was fragmented, broken up, by a brilliant Saturday night full of poetry and music. I danced to my own music (Riding song for Scott) and then to MIA's Arular. Ended the night by listening to Lolita, which is a dance of a different kind, words and desire. Middle of the road construction Soho Ikea frames make smartly cheap art at Bhakti Cafe. La Mecanica Popular APAP Showcase line up

My early morning dances are like secret journeys. The music I choose to listen to is not only the soundtrack for these escapades, but help comprise the journey itself. This morning I listened to 99 & Barry, the 1/4/13 show from the AfterFM archive. I express what I hear through my body as I glide through the otherwise quiet world of the cemetery. I listen deep to this music, but these deejays deserve even deeper listeners than me. But at least this music is flowering in my own mind. Really flowering, like a wild Suessian garden. "Vaya Con Queso".

I didn't make it out last few mornings to dance, mostly because it was 5° out. This morning though was 20° and so I went. And eventually danced out the cold. Strange Feelings in my body, I think left over from my dreams. I stopped to take a picture and my phone Was killed by the cold, my music gone. Killed cold. So I switched to walking and meditate. I bring my mind to the breath and just notice what is going on inside me. Let it go. Then I passed the grave of a beautiful 13-year-old girl died in March of last year. Is too painful to contemplate and I work with it, try to breathe through it too. Ugh. But that's the work I suppose. Wish I could help everyone in need, Everyone who is cold. The reflection of the tree Becomes this man's new do.

Cold and raining this morning which I did not mind as much as the pain caused by the stiffness in my new boots. I had to ignore the pain as I danced through the graveyard. I  listened to African Dance Beats.  It was mostly uphill. I'll go downhill tomorrow While looking at the graves I imagine "He danced through graveyards" as the epitaph on my own gravestone. . View from our basement door before I headed out this morning.

Is there anything better than dancing down 2nd ave while listening to Velvet Underground's Loaded? Probably not. Made it to Chris Sharp's show Staying In Love. All about how obsession and repetition in art is a way of staying in love. My favorite piece was the same glass painted thousands of times over 40 years by Peter Dreher. A photo won't do it justice but I will include one here anyway. This guy startled me as I was dancing down the street. I love how his suspenders light up in the flash. Dreher's glass Pixilated Snow White  Free Ai Wei Wei Cut out paper art Behold the scribble

It was one of those rare two-dance days. The second dance was with Sofia and AnaLucia. We dance to the art of electro swing and get into it. It was really fun to throw them around. They make excellent super lightweight dance partners.  Blisssss. AnaLucia gets caught in Sofia's necklace and I leave thematically together to snap this shot.

Gee stayed home from work because it is a snow day. Girls had snow ball fight in the backyard with neighbors. I danced to the Library to pick up bloom on Midsummer nights dream and hunger games. Plus a pepper and pie crust from the supermarket. This took me an hour and I listen the new Beyoncé which I found to be much better than the new Jay-Z. She seems to be maturing as an artist quite nicely. It was fun to dance with my big boots on, stomping bass into the snowpack. Also found out that some Salinger short stories have leaked online, stories that were not supposed to be released for another 50 years, when I was 95! Do I cheat Salinger and possibly death to read them? Of course, but I don't feel ready yet. Soon! I love how these trees are doing hey slow animated wave over the Sunnyside complex. Getting my kix on Skillman. TV guy is old terror chief Walking through the portal.

First dance of the year. Of the future. Down 2nd ave to the marathon. To myself. Listening to myself rock out with my cake lit, dancing like my own birthday was in question. You can only send emails to yourself from here on in. Resolutions: Infinite aura Guests for dinner weekly? Daily upkeep Outing afternoon Back that shit up Sake of the music Gold 2015 Smith and out. Marlena's. Washed white as 5 pointz Student: Do you believe in life after death? Burroughs: how do you know you haven't already died? Ismael Lancelot Runge Will Yackulic Jim Behrle