eventide

in the empty studio, my last day alone. the first two dancers arrive tonight! one month of time with them. cleaned, actually painted, the house for the past 3 days. want them to feel happy and welcomed. its still an old farm house. i hate the tub, and the fact that the water is never really HOT. i mean, its not actually a place i would ever want to live in (oh, thats right, i live there).

anyway, will life, be different starting tomorrow? this icy thin film that seems to cover everything - will it really be gone soon?

working alone, here, is that working? am i doing anything at all? i mean, alone, creating... its a very strange thing to me. and its strange that its strange.

i remember in cologne, many years ago, working on something, which made me happy. working out my duet "flying machines". and i sang as i walked down the street.

i used to think of things i called "about me" things. i suppose, that "after studio buzz" thing. that must surely be one. maybe the only really good one on that list. a lot more are neutral. sort just quirks.

but i was thinking of this sense that i dont exist when i am alone.

a mild kind of sense of ... it is more than mere artist's insecurity about the next work. it is more like: my work doesnt mean anything. or count _in this world_.
see, im alone.
oh well. the other thing i was thinking about is how, when i fell in the love for the first time. really fell i mean, how it was clear to me that it was my fate to loose her. to have lost her. two weeks with, two years without. oh, of course. to live without and suffer - thats me! i just remember clearly feeling, how -right- it seems for me. like a shoe that fit. "oh, i see. your fate is to live most of your life wishing for love," something like that. and indeed, so it has been.

i mean, i loved helena, i really did. but a tiny part of me always felt, "huh?". cant be. its not "me".

i mean, funny that this is so, isnt it? i mean, well, first of all, why? but also, why would i sense it? so early, so clearly.
yes, of course, there is a certain warped pleasure in pain, everone knows that, but... does this explain it? i mean, it sure doesnt _seem_ that way, in a day to day sense. if you asked me at any waking moment, i would say: i like the pleasure so much better than the pain!

somebody would say, i am sure, well, here is something to change. life-spring, est, landmark, whatever -- zen, ok, free your mind. ooooh. ooooooooooooooh!
the things that make me, me, are also...

but now i am in a cold studio, waiting for the heat to kick in. yoga can warm up a room too.