Dancing, Dreaming and Ghosts...

Last night, I had a fantastic night of tango. Many tandas, great conversations, a lot of laughs.., And as I was experiencing such a great night, I also started thinking about other great nights, and my favorite tango people who were not there with me last night. As I was enjoying a milonga, my mind wandered, thinking about many other great milongas I danced, and the ghosts of those milongas started revolving around us, dancing with us, as we were dancing with the music, with the floor, with each other, and with our ghosts.

There are good ghosts you know... Ghosts that you want to have. Last night as my old ghosts visited me on the dance floor. And as I was dancing, I witnessed the creation of new ghosts that would come and visit me at a later time... Sometimes unexpectedly, sometimes in the middle of a tanda, sometimes, when I am dreaming, and sometimes, when I am walking on the street, summoned by the first few notes of a favorite tango....

If life is yearning for you...

I am lost in your absence.
My eyes see the world around me
With the beat of my heart.
Images now bigger and now smaller...
With every beat,
I search for you,
with palpitations of a million beats..
And when I find you
My heart stops.
I die...

I can take many a test
to determine what type of Starbucks coffee I am
Or which star wars character
But I cannot figure out,
why I feel so lost in this era of hyper networking
why I feel my ties to life are so loose
why among so many things that try define me
from social security numbers to credit scores
from my race, color, and passport
from what I have on my Ipod to who deserves my vote
I feel unidentified more and more

the more I am connected
the less connected are my connections to each other
So I have to walk the tight rope
across this web that I am not sure I intended to build
right here, right now, like this....

divided into 1000 pieces
pulled in a million directions
bombarded with billions of audiovisual bits a day
Not to mention unsolicited junk mail I receive every day
Is life better this way?

I lose my self and feel the urge to read more Kafka
start smoking
stop showering
and wait for Godot
as a black and white image of a ghostly chair
in a Charlie Chaplin movie

Girl Afraid of Dreaming..

What is the shelf life of the hope I bought?
How can I believe in what I think not-ought?
My future tied to shadows that I have long fought
I implore, I carve on the mast I lean on:
Let me see, let me breathe, let me go ashore…

When I was a girl so little
I had feelings oh so brittle
A soul so fragile that it’ll
Shatter and forever remain
On the discount aisle of a misunderstood peoples store…

So afraid of the status quo’s future dispositions
And so not brave to consider risky propositions
Given that there are no listed shattered souls auditions
I remain here on this shiprwreck and hope
That I sleep long and silent and that I dream no more…


Picture: Girl at the Mirror by Norman Rockwell

I'll wait for the next one...

Another one has come and gone. I danced, made new friends, learned more about places, people, moments, and yet I cannot say that I am wiser for it... A festival is a festival. I am who I am. Not much will change. I will get over the hangover effect. My senses will numb, the bruises on my feet will fade away, and disappear, tangolessness will seem almost bearable once again...and I will wait for the next one...

J'attendrai le suivant....

I will write a few things about this short film, but for now, I am just sharing it...

What a great Vals...

Clavelito en Flor, Rodriguez, lovely, lovely, lovely...