The feedback at the bar is great... so I thought.
Most of the ideas of dance and new, revolutional ideas of choreography had been born at “drunk parties”... I have no time to feel nostalgic.
Alcohol allows my thoughts to speed up.
Up and up...
And it allows an “incapacity of thought” (keywords from Artaud) to be reached,
but when incapacity reaches incapacity,
then it becomes a real “zero = death.”
Will you really die?
Or will you survive until the end and try to live an extension of life?
At the close “brink,”
just in front of, on the “verge,” on the “edge,”
to be bordered
“To be bordered”? Is that my desire?
That is not my real “desire” either.
Not to the border, not to the edge, not to outside or inside,
Trying to reach to “impossible to reach,”
Impossible to reach
My desire is to become this impossible thing.
Whose cry is it?
Someone, whose name is unknown (Mararume?)
The voice with a non-name,
without place, at a non-place,
can you hear it?
you, are you listening?
At the Tozai Metro Line 05/24/2013