Deleuze in a Dream

––Time is the deepest intuition.

––You know I hate it when you speak in the superlative. 

Poem

In my secret city there are churches on every corner. I run into my favorite lover every half hour, and, oriented toward warmth, we find an uppermost alcove in which to speak. I don't skip class; I skip to class. I make it. I am always on time. My hands resist all aging. There are no phones. We know each other's monogamous pasts. There is only one invented self, one constructed moment. My output is propulsive as is my walking, my movement bounds and reveals. I apply. We enter into a singular room as words pour into our hands—yours on all manner of limb: mine, naturally. Trees don't die, unlike us. 

My body is a well-worn copper roof. Your fingernails tresses of freshly-mown hair. I gather your sweat in the mini bathtub of my studio apartment as I check the time on my sister's watch. We have the same best friend. An upright piano in my living room signifies my intention to stay. Your hope is permanent in me. We tell each other, "You're smelling wonderfully animal today darling," with 40 different expressions amid the time. Everybody comes to the party. Our capacity is infinite. I peel aside a handmade curtain as the show begins.

"I'm Not Interested in Purely Aesthetic People"

Postmodern/Pedestrian:

- external causes

- ends-based, purpose of a movement is to accomplish a goal-

- measured by numbers arbitrarily (counting)

- invert-able movements: the simplicity of single movements allows for instant reversal/inversion

- functional

- without flourish

- is what it is

- systems of weight shift

- meaningless, borderline ridiculous

- propositional

- directional

- working within the smallest arena of what the physical structure can do

- movements are simple enough to narrate, describe

- androgynous

- abides by certain rules about space

- the moving body is just a moving body in relation to the systems of the world, to the facts of the world

- cumulative

- incidental

- movements have an organic outcome to realize: realized when the dancer gets out of her own way

Balletic/Extended:

- on two feet, one orientation: always upright, even when horizontal/angled

- repeats structures of patterns

- tires you out and you keep going

- positional system: one static part, one mobile part

- repeatable on (2) different “sides”

- reverence is embodied, bowing occurs as an expected ceremony

- systems of counter-forces, isometrics: pushing and pulling at the same time

- twisting

- make it appear easy; don’t show exhaustion

- ability to be on outer edges of a physical limitation (structural) is valued

- virtuosity + musicality = genius

- long static positions of corps de ballet (e.g. your foot is cramping but you cannot move, or else…?)

- disconnection between sensation (inner and outer) and the requirements of the form

- ornamental, gestural

- self-conscious all the time by necessity

- attached (to idea of how I look)

- looks one way, is another

- easily caricatur-ized

- forces deep within cause movement

- “style” is easy to apply to other forms (has a clear aesthetics)

- angular

- translatable, can come in and out of the state

And if I saw in a massive street your richness

1.

Would it be a dream or something else if I saw in the pock-marked avenue your sweating eyes?
If I imitated your hand would I be left with more you or me?

2.

If I'm being honest I have a desire a million times a day to be anything to you. I repeat these riotous movements toward the end. I asked ChatGPT to translate the notes on the Venmo transactions between you and your Swedish tutor. 

3.

"To see the world aright," I hope. Thoughts sprawl at the top of me; trickle down through empty elbows and wholesome knees to two heel bones beneath the bottom of my head which is the top of a very long spine. Sprawling spine that is the entire world. When I see it I just wish you could feel it too. I address you out of habit. The intimacy of that. 

4.

Did I see your smooth head in the old man's flute playing?
Did I let the images accumulate for long enough?
Did I get involved with superlatives early on?
Did I write even one original line?
Did my disgust with myself lead you to a new allergy?
Did your caricature percolate at the wrong temperature?
Did I run for the wrong stop?
Did you make your painting?
Did our translation succeed?

Human Mood

 What you did to me I am trying to not do to others. 

Everything that happens happens in this moment: I want the bread. I buy the bread. 

1. I don’t like the spring, everyone flaunting how not alone they are. 

2. I don’t like the spring. Everyone flaunts how together they are.

3. I don’t like the spring––that everything flaunting its togetherness. 

I’m in my room, spinning the world in my hands.

I’m in my room to come out with the world. 

Death and Disappearance

Everything ends. I felt myself silent, completely awake and responsive to the myriad worlds. I felt people move through me. I feel up to something bigger than me. Maybe as big as a house. A marvelous turning takes place in the base of my being, or my spine. I’m working on dying and disappearing. By that I mean I am working very hard at listening and being responsible for something. I am not wrong for crying anywhere. No one has known me my whole life but me. Geometrically speaking, all that two people can do is come together and apart. I am very clear that I am not you. I am I. I can only be exactly who I am. I saw **** and **** and **** and **** and met **** who seems to be a little autistic. I felt quiet and extremely grounded in myself. Completely okay with being perceived solo. A solo is the hardest form because you can only hide in yourself, and so from yourself. I read Wittgenstein in Brooklyn Heights. I considered star-67 calling **** and didn’t ask anyone’s opinion about it. I went to the noise show and got two CDs. I saw so many people today. None of them were you and none of them were me. Just gravity and potential. In my body and the world. I like my house of a body. The many rooms of my consciousness. I stand on a balcony as I wait for the G train. 

Souring on victory

 Everything is everywhere an email a koan a fingernail an iPhone the future a pube some piles or puddles no money great clothes no sleep good drugs some fish and eggs bad world good time new love some dance a plan rough draft strong feet loud songs long hair far off no mom no dad so scared or glad not sure and broke but you in time and art and light so hope for us close now or when we touch you me you all night to day a love is thus and so for words to go push fast and slow but time is light we know a bit of this

of this

of this 

of this

of this 

of this