1001 Disco Days

So tonight I danced on the way to write, just a little and then called my dad. He told me to stop all the yaya. Just like old times.  I decided to try to write to John Coltrane, to write to the beat, to the music, but I just ended up transcribing Ashbery talking about O'Hara for my movie. And I got a headache. Wow. Now back to dancing. I went around the tracks several times, skipping on the slick cement and I skated with friction.  The music was the incomparable DJ Drez. I swooned. Suddenly the ghost dance partners were out and about in profusion. I had a vision for the O'Hara movie. Sinead O'Connor singing "when I was a boy" to begin the film.     This album may cause transcendence 

Early morning, fresh after a rain, I skipped down the street to Dusty Grooves.   The cemetery was closed so I went back home and had a meditation in which I imagined myself center of all space above and below and around in front.   not business, it's just personal.     Pond Under the 7     Close up

Heading into the chic Greek Astoria. Total adventure. Chic Greek. Energy, culture, bright flashing lights.  Total adventure. You can stop at liquor stores around here and there are always reps for liquor companies giving samples. I stopped and had some sake in one store and some Kahlúa and coffee and then whiskey in another. It inflamed my dance. I picked up a falafel sandwich from a food truck to take home for dinner.  I dance into the smallest space possible to get inside of a thrift store, Ecuadorian run, then spend $.99 on a beautiful paperback by Aldous Huxley called "Time Must Have A Stop."     Bar quotes         Energy made visible!      among other things this blog is a good      Source for dance music. This album great.

Two-a-days, that's what we called two football practices in one day in high school. So If I am indeed in training, for the great dance in the sky, I had two practices today.  The second dance was walking Sofia to school, then walking Lucia to Party City to get supplies for her bday party. Inside party city they were playing Michael Jackson. Loud. I danced down the Aisles. I ran into Ginsberg and Whitman there. It was a poetry party.      Perfect Fall

Super fancy dance pants. 25 degrees. Invigorating. Incredible playlist by Joel Davis on afterfm.com, "afternoon sound alternative" 11/14/14, see playlist below. Thinking this morning about how chromosomes aren't blueprints but living things, without parts, an interwoven relationship, a set of potential. Then, after I got home and had breakfast with the girls, I asked them what they were grateful for (our usual ritual.) Sofia said she was "grateful that we are not models." !!!    Local pub season decoration.     Close up of vine knot this rhododendron still looks beautiful. the leaves are waxy and brittle. I didn't even know this kind of floral beauty was possible in this weather. Blandetto and postmodern jukebox are the standouts here, but brushy one string and srikala good too.

Like an amazing poem

A quarter of the way there, king. These should be writ and tied up w rEd bow, put in shoebox, hidden under bed. Last night danced in south Manhattan in the Walt to george schneeman show. And there presented with giant nude Adonis painting of Bill Berkson, could hardly speak, had to shield my eyes, my god. And talked to Padgett awhile looking at him nude. It was his birthday that day he said. He was in his birthday suit! Looking at ny school book w Anne Waldman. Talking shelley w colleti. Still reeling. But the dance there, to vampire weekend and then after on my way to mint dick marathon (where I sat next to Eileen myles!) Then tonight the dance down queens blvd.  a combo. Beethoven and shelley together almost too much. John Colleti in front of Schneeman's portrait of Bill Berkson Quick step out in Queens, special local style

Such a beautiful November Morn. Like something dying was born. Shadow selfie in a stop sign at sunrise. Very strange music from 99 and Barry this morning, "there" early November show, with psychedelic Japanese pop prevalent. Speaking of strange:   And then there's this:

Here at Tablerock  Lake in Arkansas, for my dad's 70th birthday. Got up early and watched the fog burned off the lake. The frost glitter like glass in the grass. The particular earthy smell of the leaves on the ground, which I haven't smelled since growing up in Missouri, very deep in me. That's the stuff. Fela Kuti for the score.

He who binds to himself to a joy/ Does the winged life destroy/ He who kisses the joy as it flies/ Lives in eternity's sunrise. -William Blake I thought of this quote this morning as I watched hundreds of sparrows dart out of a sycamore tree and into the grass between gravestones.     Angel with Chrysler building in          distance     Terrific dance album!

In my head I'm having a Conversation and I qualify something I'm going to say, and I realize I qualify so many things I'm bout to say and I'm wondering if I should I ask my friends if this is a problem? To find out if it's a problem? And the voice of my friend Darin Stevenson, whose thoughts I read almost every day on Facebook and can therefore seemingly summon at will, says to me "by asking that question you're qualifying yourself. Or rather any answer to that question is itself a qualification." Point taken. Look, a hawk! She's ratcheting herself up through the washboard clouds over Gotham in bellowing bursts, a sign of hope. The leaves of the autumn-clad trees shimmer in response. The soundtrack is TV on The Radio covering Fela Kuti's, "Sorrow Tears & Blood". Even the rusty girded underbelly of the 7 train looks fresh and mysterious on a morning like this.     Angel with tiger puppet     RA   beloved husband

Epic sunset dance in the Sunnyside cemetery. 99 & Barry had an amazing set on the 10/24/14 "afternoon sound alternative" on afterFM.com. If you are reading this then look it up and do yourself a favor. Give your self some flavor. At one point  I was on the cemetery dance floor, moving to the music in the ecstatic wind-blown flow, and I struck the sophisticated poses of the parti-colored trees all around me. One tall tree even became my lover. Virile. I thought about my responsibility to stand up for life, I thought about spray painting  "My God, we are the barbarians" on a wall on Wall Street. Deep ending with yoga to "meditations in an emergency" by mama's little helper,  that's us.     Spying Angels     Dead leaves on the dirty ground     Angel looking over Freedom Tower