we paired up and Abby and I took turns turns witnessing, each other, writing on stage, talking while writing, dribbling, then putting the pages out there, letting the body be the page. Don't think of it as doing a dance, Margit said. Think of it as doing your thing. which made it a lot easier for me. had Abby convinced for a minute that I knew shorthand, which is maybe as close as I get to achieving some soaring dance move. I let my narrative go, kind of, put it out there, how I wanted to, needed some new lateral flow (after what the orthopedic told me last week re; my shoulders and ankles--"Your foundation has crumbled.") and then starting swimming toward the studio heat lamp (the Kunst-Off Arts studio has exquisite heat lamps, your hair could catch fire if you got to close, I think). Abby struggled, cocooned herself in her dance, arms making counter-valences, fingers pressed into each other until she went leap-running over blankets and bare wood floor, round and round the studio. enacting her sense of getting stuck in words, as total movement vocabulary.
Denise and I did a bang up job of not collapsing into paroxysms of laughter during the class (even when I sneezed ad we kept reversing the meridians during our pairing) this is a tremendous feat on our part, though i think we might have challenged ourselves to work that into our soundings. she also promised me that if i build the onecontinuousword blog for her, she will begin to blog. so i will.
We all go out into the night, our tongue-bodies entering BART, Margit concluded the class. Then, Oh no, never mind about that last part!
