Notes on A Natural Dance
Stella CorsoNothing to do I have nothing to say it is foggy all day big mountain backdrop
do you need a rooster tall tree of illuminating bark what is outside my window
the top of a church what will make me feel better crystals & vetiver soft
inky pens a new fragrance made without politics I like to see the stitches and the
binding thread everywhere is an accident here is a controlled space everyone
wants a sundress do some families think: kids need soccer? Am I most busy. Am I
ever not in my head I should always be stretching + cleaning + editing my space I
want clean empty floors nice scents, remedial pleasures! These are my remedial
pleasures: scents + lotions + crystals + candles + sex + cats? + wine it is all in the
spirit of medicine
I shake my boobs like medicine. I am bare breasted in every dream. Maybe the
country cleanses me so I can go into town + into cities with a cleansed aura and
accrue new energy if that is integral to my work it is all worth it I have willed my
Bradenburg to me I envisioned it in its perfection + it came embraced the
occult, pagan rituals I tied your braid to the tail of a ___________.
We expect mothers to be at the bottom of every uphill (or) top of every downhill
climb I have dark wood so I will have to go with that
Part 1: “We are not injured”
first instincts, no clear leader “one thought per action” we don’t know how to
communicate yet, so we begin as human building, corralling, storing up energy
for the winter move away from the knownness don’t not experience the
moment just because you’ve set it that way tactile, playful sharper
relationship between things (body, word) each has its own logic, they may not fit
beautifully but we can make a relationship between them
What makes an “open” word as opposed to a “closed” word:
–is it sound?
–is it meaning(s)?
SHOVELING SNOW
words as performers, acting w/out ideas? creating their own ideas w/out me it’s good
(for you) to have amulets it’s about one thing, many, nothing
Oh you need clear imagery? here you go: “swatting at flies”
you’re going camping, you’re packing your things, now you are about to be a baby
giraffe who dies…sad times! I’ll draw a box while you kiss the ground I want to
be self-sustaining, self-contained but also loved + missed? When I am away in my
shell my spirit guide “let go of the ending more + more”
we are both man-made + natural within the structure I could be like those who
shared the structure. outside I had to be a man or precisely could not be a man.
purified vs. putrefied
Part 2: “Notes on the Structure”
house-like, slanted beams, mountainside, parts of bugs, lady parts, parts of men,
sleeping arrangements, camp-like, attractive sweatpants my god that was a
revelation, sounds of screaming, hissing, flushing, blood + sweat + rain + technology,
singing frogs, log screaming, I want to look like I am always dancing in
luxurious perfumed textiles
what is my relationship to the physical world. nothing + everything I am trying not
to know timing or experience or We begin with space + time. Something
is carried to the table. Everyone must trade places with the work.
Everyone must be carried separately. Some require heavy lifting, some want it tender.
A madness ensues. Who will sit at my table? Can I be self-contained or separate NO
What are these smells generated + do I like them There is a struggle for a small
space within a much bigger space. At some point you stay silent for the sweeping.
At some point the heft is great but without struggle. Someone always leaves. The
others must become themselves or else animals. We are all spinning in place we
are awkward little machines. Messy nests of self-containedness. Please don’t kick the
nest, there is a baby bird in it. My mother did not wince to find the baby bird blue
in its shell. That’s when I knew I’d always be alone in my sadness. My talisman can’t
keep still they are always working for me to find me meaning. At which point
someone dies.
And we must fight over the remains. What remains. Our bodies kissing the
ground with broken beaks. Show me your card, I’ll show you a swan. Beauty
was the horror in the house I grind in Loved by an animal mother. Lift me my
hindness grating on the pavement. There is an arching to this architecture that
is not accidental. There is an aching. Watch me for a while as I wiggle this
one out. Ever reaching for the prize. How many times do I have to win until I
am the winner. When will this space be all mine. I don’t know how you feel
about sports but I like to work. How many angles make the whole of this
space how many angels. I’ll sit this one out.
We can’t scream when we get back into to New York.