Saturday, 1 June 2013

Skript/Performing Place/Chichester

Skript 010613: Whilst Performing Place at Chichester University (UK)


come write dancing                                                                     

I am waiting, breathing, in suspense
landing, weight pulls me down, sit bones contact
voices behind, birds in front, waiting to arrive

a deep breath, in, out, shoulder up, shoulder down, chest out, in…
the pounding of one foot fall after another, flapjack
sinking ships, icebergs, forest, feet, the collision of inner and outer worlds into more than 2,  more than the relational, dialetical…more…
what do you…
run, walk, sink,swim,drive, sit…here now. all moving my capacity
me as alge… the stuff the sticks the grows on the river bank.

swaying and sticking, the body as this organic, simple form…

i seek out my algae, finding a swaying somewhere along the upper reaches of my back and fluidity under my ribs, in the open space under my ribs for the flow of water through
drift, pulled along in the draw of the fluid moving water… sensing that drift, letting myself imagine it, an image in me a source of moving being..  and he runs by, the air passing like the water passes.


slowly building, fleshing out, staying, sticking.

sticking to here. the sitting bones falling down into the chair that holds me while the shoulders reach out, wings reaching out of the centre of my back…

running on slides into cycling ….. propelllllling falling, falling into running sitting. what is it the run here, extending the legs out the image sensation draws out me legs, and in this noticing i shift to the recurring image in me of the suit, a large suit… and this suit that begins full, large… slowly gives way, drops into itself, as the ait leaves my lungs, body, being….
12345678 the lonh breathing out the folding into and letting go of , of what, of muscle tension, of pusling heart of twittering belly.
breathe, exhaling, revive, renewal.

the spaces within and within , the light catching the conner of my eye… vision of light and pixels on the table in front, the closed  warm space undermy armpits… the very mention changes me.. ..

link flock run run dynamic and energetic the folds in back of the knees the crook of the elbow and touching of flesh on flesh in the arm pit… this touching unlike lips lack an erotic resonance….

the erotics of the flesh, the dancerly desire to flow to move…. and then here i am . I sit, my fingers move across the keys….. and in sitting the movement continues the traveling, running on, as blood pulses through me and the mind(body)  slides and falls, catching the moment as it passes by me….

throb in my chest, boom, coursing through to fingers and
we sit and …
the inevitable ellipsis…, felt in my chest, no fingers, eyes…
inevitable… ellip…pi…pi…sis
the sis…the sis…she moves slowly, waiting, hungry for…
a kind of connection, a place of meeting in the strange space of language….yes, waiting, meeting, a flowing,
alll words that I come back to again and again
as if you could trace my body - my being- in some cluster, some lexicon, of words. i find myself wondering a sort of dancing of again and again, the choreographic repitition
a choreography for me of enthusiasm,
and I end on the word accomplice….
an accomplice, you, me here…together, we wait, i wait
Whenever I think of myself dancing I see myself as a two year old on cine-arms aside and my dress twirling round and round and round….i see her standing, one foot on the seat of the bicycle, the other foot and leg lifting behind her, weeeeee, she falls…i cried, wore a hankie around my hurt neck for weeks to get more sympathy
I lost my front teeth over tha handle bars -a magician tried to stop my crying at a birthday party..
and we sit here, with teeth and legs, our bodies resting whilst our fingers move, i allow my memories of a dancing body to re-inhabit…Movement was lost for me for many years and turned into singing, ah the choreography of the voice…beautiful…Breathing and being and moving -then it all became fine art..and she dances to another spot, reinvents herself again…always on the degs but an interesting liminal place - a gap- a jump- a new thing…..
the liminal space, we wait in what we do not yet know, we, i wait with you…wait . yes we wait… the bird, plane, window call to me to outside falling into my waiting….

a sound, eyes fall on the white of the table, i catch a breath, slowing, flowing inside, blood wait, pause, breath, knees.the knees of millions, billions, of years of knowledge of …runnning … i sit… and i know of running, the bend of the knee, the lift and fall of the foot, an aliveness in my knee’s imagining of my ancient running
Running away, alongise beside, behind and infront, intermittent running, walking frustration and failure, reengaging, striving and falling forwards into a run fall into a space, not ‘a space’! of running then what?then what…the space opens, we, i fall into and move from within and struggle…no outside, no space, yet space and both… a pathway, track, running it down, wearing a path, what passes by why does it pass by, do we engage or do we aspire to reach? Heading towards but what is behind, footprints, heel, toes and toes and tooooooooes…good toes, naughty toes, good toes, naughty toes…good toes, naughty toes, the lift of the heel on the floor, the extension of the arch of the foot, the tingle, we call it stretch…the pressure in the heel, or is it elsewhere…good or bad,… can i sense hthe difference? and shift from one state to another…

tension and pain the the elbow as a welcme throb. the bird sings to me tingling though the back of my neck….

ta ta tap .. as if walking in heels … i pitch forward falling falling drowning in the ta ta tap of my falling walking… and the bird sings, sings to me….

here alone, the distant voices like the song.. finding my song as i sit…  spin diddily fall diddily roll ah roll the the tipping over drpping one momet into the next.  

we writing of these interior places…. hte past and the presencing of now…. presence is giving me a huge problem  I knowwhat it feels like  a deer for example is quivering with it when I walk and encounter it/them but a dancer, me? I think we exchanage    ssomething, i feel a recogniton, rightness in some movement..the rightness… i want to take a moment to sense, fell, note what rightness might be in me / us here right now…

the quiet in me the stilling as i try to know what rightness feels like…. here it’s sounds and impacts   I am not looking up   why  the head angled the fingers shifting ,.. these or current ctions but the rightness …. i pause.. a judgement …. right, good, bad???  no no judgements not any scales simply a moment of recogniton where it fits  and fits so fluidly? that it can bring extreme reactions, tears even, but never a better than worse than fitting a theory, its a shared moment of habitation perhaps here its becoming the pauses rather than..

space as pause

i dream into your scales… the fluids and blood passing through right the left in the heart… blood pulsing through my veins… tipping and tip and the weight has to go with me… or else i have to hold…

like that pause…

i hold.

well the pauses examine you/me in a way and whatever number of seconds they extend beyond that measurement,  blood pulsing for me is something else, an 
ncrease of the tips of my fingers through  touching fingers to face, the pause becomes and action…

a gesture of possibile new directions….. of drift…

sand in the keyboard…

sand falling through keyboard, falling ou of my fingers . hte words drifting across through me/us…


we wait, an invitation to wait…or dance
or writewang to dance wanting to dance wantng…wanting. wanting….desire long … ing..longing…not the longing for…but the longing, i feel it here, no here, a sharp where is here? a sharp intake of breath, a low dull ache, somewhere that i cant quite name…search, i’ll search…oh,,,for. no not for …with…what about letting goof the breath?goof the breath, i like that…i do you evr imagine you are breathingout through a straw and thinm about how that feels?yes, let’s do that breath, the straw breaths…and then you experience that feelingof comfort not just in the face but in the rest of the body … rest of the/my body resting, feeling, a sense of the breath, lettting go, opening, and releasing the tension of the day. how do your feet feel on the ground? my feet on the ground, a longing for..taking off my shoes, to feel the earth between my toes, and yours? your feet? are they …where…kick off and take off … take off, the feet that take off - no take off shoes and feel freed.i have removed mine as you will have heard… yes, and yet, as i hear your fingers on the keyboard i am moved, heavy, punching fingers marking out the words on the screen that somehow feel at odds with the feet tht long to be freed. yes that’s life’s dilemma isn’t it. it is fascinating how muchwe respond to each other because I was thinking aboutthe staightness fyour back and its lack of connection to the - uncomfortable - back of the chair. And wondering how that relates to the feelings of breathing. corrections…
we correct oourselves, i correct my back to sit in this uncomfortable chair, perhaps the straight back allows something that the chair cannot provide i will see what my back wants . but is there tension in your back? are you gripping? Yes you just relaxed your arms so that may have been good to let go. now why don’t you take your shoes off? is there tension in your back, does the back want to dance, is there a dance there waiting to be allowed to play, to spin, circlee, elongate…YES YES YES. BUT I DON’T KNOW THE RULES OF THIS GAME YET. no rules, unless we find some…. OK I WANT TO STRETCH a leg…and is there a way the leg can stretch on the page, do we have dancing sretching leg…i see your leg,  but you asked if I wanted to dance and of course I said yes and I know about back tension and the Alexander Technique - maybe that’s another reaon for dancing. after all there is tons of movemen in what we are doing anyway. couldn’t we develop it? yes, let’s . do you know the dance of the table? no, teach me…. it’s called dong it in the moment … i leg lifts, a stretch, head to floor and then there can be no fingers on the keyboard, no writing dancing, or could there be/
. but I am going to write my name in the air …the riht arm moves, the elbow shifting ttrought the space, circling, something. either you are being disciplined or unimaginative because you have still got your feet constrained within your shoes.  yes, so maybe there are rules after all. do I need to conform …no, no no…as I missed the start of yur excellent paper I can only improvise and guess at the purpose. but it’s quite fun anyway yes, you are doing the ‘right’ thing
thank you
is that THE END? it can be. BUT I AM HAPPY TO GO ON. take no notice of the caps … they are not symbolic. OK. do you think Vida wants to join in? MAYBE, OR MAYBE SOMEONE ELSE MIGHT LIKE TO?ok …

anns fingers hit hte keyboard… an i sense the attack left behind the full cap…. the energy…


a space…


what grace
i like attax

instead of attacks

axe the cross falling the cutiing to end -- but in ending whatmight begin….

some blades cut like an axe   to severe  a   moment
it’s no accident
cut as repeated starts… the flow of the cut as enabling me to go on.. pause, cut, shift… processes of change.
like pulling out weeds from the roots,,, but in pulling they die, never to return… but i am dreaming into my dance of change, my bofy as changing, body oddy as in motion…
i see a flowerbed without flowers. the bare soil is just as right, just enough. I can smell the fertile matter. It   just   waits and as we lay under/on/within the soil perhaps we can draw on its quiet waiting energy…

yes please.. the earth in/on/as my feet. i start to slide across hte field of the world. the solid, changing earth as my seed bed..

from axe to earth. rawing the sword from the stone. to fields, to meadows, to bending barley, to wind tops and running…. running… runnningnnnnnnn toward from or just of the doing… the back bending with hte wind the feet falling into the earth. running for no perpose….

i feel very far from running. if not running, where?
here  in me   perhaps i feel I am running   here   in me   without the need to sweat it out outside .  the run of hte imagination….


  1. Liked every bit of it, although it was bit lengthy but you wrote it in a way that I never got bore of it. Thanks for sharing it with us.

  2. This comment has been removed by the author.


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