Notes on A Natural Dance

Stella Corso

Nothing 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)?



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.

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