Spring is come. I show my body who’s boss, biking top gear, running down blocks, dancing till I drop every jaw every thought chewing out my guts of fourteen hour days of not getting paid to be poor enough, trying to stay awake for the nightlife, a symptom of getting old? a too comfortable bed, but my muscles crave a mission. Go forth and multiphasic cut the floor in angles, step snap spastic, stand stalk thrill.
“Can you teach me how to dance?”
Can you teach me how to stand still.
I miss Vancouver James. He would know what to do, and he would deny it, but he’s better at people. Don’t be afraid to look foolish, is what I want to say. The fear shows and the fear is worse.
Well the Cure’s all rubber necks, hips and broken kneecaps, Suicide Commando, you’re gonna want a fist. But I don’t know how to explain something like “Assimilate,” a darksider staple in Skinny Puppy’s Vancouver.
I’d stomp the shit out of that song and awful feelings feeling so far from home and close to where I come from, untamable untellable hell and hearing it now I’m all the none the wiser not dying, you’d have to put me down with a tranquilizer to get me to stop crying.
“Where did you learn how to dance?”
A bowling alley basement in Fargo, North Dakota? YouTube talent shows? Everyone better than me? Alone in my room for years, mostly. The average slice of time I devote to dancing each day/night in my tiny apartment, staining the floorboards with tire-sole scuffs and sweat till I strip to longjohns add it up! the intermission screenbreaks, can’t sleeps, can’t wakes, 45 minutes, I’d say. Give or take. I beat the mouth of my fist into my heartcage, slap the fillets of my abdomen, dance with my teeth, my spine, my spit, my third eye and no self.
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