I am sitting here at Berghain in the inner and outer glow of existence; the glass stairwell which connects the two dance floors.
I keep returning to this place between dances, in various states of waiting.
Everytime the light is different. From a silvery moonlight, a blood lunar eclipse, to new moon darkness.
In each state I dance for you here, sit, watch others pass, learn how to be between.
An event is taking place,
A gathering, exhibition, or party perhaps.
A performance is prepared but unplanned.
The performers are amongst those gathered;
One creating rippling vibrations of sound which fill the room,
The other immersed in conversations with people and space.
One walks towards the other and removes her clothing,
Removes all layers, but her flesh toned underwear.
She moves place;
Empathic to the bodies of those gathered, the sound artist, the interior,
And takes on a new form.
Focusing internally on her centre,
Becoming hyper-sensitive to the vibrations there,
She surrenders her body to it and is moved.
This movement continues,
As long as the nonsensical narrative of the body demands.
There is no ending,
Just a pause.
Fountain of Youth
Standing at the fountain of youth
Where a maiden greets me
She asks me three questions
Which unlocks my psyche
Which allow me to reach to the core
To touch the eternal light
I cry as I reach
Because I believe myself to be separate
Others see me crying
Lessons are reflected in my tears
I wake to write this dream
And hear the sweetest music
Rising from below
New Moon Lunar Eclipse
I am sitting here on the S-Bahn
Between Spandau and Berlin
You are sitting opposite me
I am noticing my thinking processes
As I write in my note-book
You are on your phone
Between thinking and writing
Between writing and observing you
Between my urges and desires
As what I believe to be appropriate
To do or not with you
I am separating my desires from my intentions
And my intentions from my actions
I have something to say to you
Between these thoughts, desires, intentions, and actions
There is life passing
We are passing life
Here on the S-Bahn
Between Spandau and Berlin
It is a special evening
The Summer Solstice
A New Moon
And Lunar Eclipse
I must get off at the next station
But I don’t want too
I am sitting here on a bed on the floor
The fourth story of a building
Both foreign to my body
It is morning
The sun is sharp and the air cool
It caresses my cheek like a lover
Yesterday I walked from this bed to his home
But he wasn’t there
From his home to Berghain
But it wasn’t open
From Berghain to my favorite bar
And met a friend
I am organizing a queer performance laboratory
To expand and consolidate my community
Transform my perception
Elevate my practice
To reach the moon and fall again
Deeper into myself
The only self I need
Reflective Writing Post Meditation Healing with Andre Fau
I sit here before my computer still listening to the Universal Harmonies you sent me that we tuned into during our shared meditation earlier this evening. We began at 6pm. It is now 10pm. I return from a walk by the spree between Bellevue and Hauptbahnhof stations, between daylight and nightfall. I was walking towards the light of the almost full moon. I was walking towards the light of my almost full self.
As we sat together in a column of blue light, I felt the light and comfort of all I knew to be true, shared with another human. This beautiful human attracted me to him and I confess to finishing the meditation with a semi erection.
I was and am, questioning what it means to be open to receive from others and the universe and to be protected from the psychological dangers being open can present the self with. I am questioning how much I need to prove myself and my love for others to the universe in order to justify my own existence on this earth. The Universal Harmonies, the Higher Frequencies, the Moonlight and the Spree continue to run through me. Me, a channel of light with infinite connected pathways both forward and backward. Both inward and outward. I write this all in gratitude of the connection we made with each other, with love, with transformative states of perception. The name of my present solo development process is called EnterOne. Now I know why, now I know you and know I am ready to unknow Tsuki Becoming.
The Long Now
Laying here at Kraftwerk
Beneath lights floating softly
Body stretched out like canvas
New frequencies pass through
I am not alone
Sitting here on the SBahn
Between the endless here and there
Body hunched over tablet writing
Trembling with the rails
Transcend the human world
I am not this body
Laying here in bed
For the very last time
Body becoming dust particles
Floating towards the moon
Translate this poem into kisses
And ask how long is now
A white light pierces through the darkness
It screams hysterically into the void
All other emotions appear as manipulations
Safety mechanisms to feel loved
This light, this scream, is honest
It is beyond me
It is beyond reason
It does not love another
But has an insatiable need to reach out
Treat each other as sweetly as we can
While we make space for our monsters of truth
My Own Berghain
It's not crying you see
Just my eye balls sweating
I danced all night
I danced all day
Between the two I floated
But never fo a moment
Did I stop and think of you
The memory of us sweats out my face
Makes mess of black tarkett
I'm becoming the centre of my own black lake
It oozes out my chest and spreads beneath me
I want to play in my lake
More naked than naked
No need for another
Nature itself is my sex date
Seeing light through branch and cloth
Remembering its touch
I danced you out of me
So I could become this body
Which can be seen in the aftermath of trauma
In beauty and truth
In my mind I have long black hair
That blows in the warm breeze
And eyes that burn
A New Moon appears
Berlin to Brussels
I am sitting here at the Berlin Central Bus Station. I am sitting at the very place, on the very step, where we sat together years before. The coffee is warm in my throat and stomach. The breeze is cool through my hair and on my eyes. The bus to Brussels has been delayed and I have extra time to sit here and write. This is not a coincidence. I don’t believe in them anymore. There are layers of meaning in every moment. I have moved through so many today.
A calm morning coffee with Leisa,
An anxiously confused travel to meet Takeshi,
An inspired rehearsal together,
A flirtatious mass of messages over Facebook, Instagram, and Grindr,
Climaxing in ecstatic solitude on my bed,
A sleep; a slip deep inside myself,
A tentative collection of belongings,
And now here, an extended departure at the bus stop, in which I am gifted with time for reflection.
All these moments and more in a single day. I try to see myself, my body, my life, from above. Notice the spiraling patterns of longing, expression, connection and return to self. There are no ends to these hungry expanding pathways. Or are they tentacles, pulling the pure light of distant souls towards an endless void only to find that we all create fantastical displays of artificial light bought at the same boutique supermarkets? We display shows of beauty and humor, of strength and fragility in hope of masking the dark crevasses of our soul.
I ready myself now for departure; from the place I am still piecing together to make a future home. Fractures of processes, survival, art, friendships, forgiveness. Like crystals they form from the dark cave of the soul, from the imprint you left in me.
I long to transcend the social systematic confines which fool me into believing I am separate, but find my feet still firmly rooted to this earth. My body still drawn to directions that oscillate, that rock, that bring me to sleep each night. Even here, now, on the moving bus I am taken to bumpy dreams I know to be true but know no way of communicating except through dance and becoming.
We no longer walk through air
But an endless thickening tide of information
Zaps and tickles punctuate the surface of our skin
We need to develop gills to survive without our latest flotation devices
Devices that act as islands
As utopian salt-crystal bubbles,
As isolation booths full of helium
To float or drown
Or hope; and walk on water
On the promise of a body of land
To share bodily wisdom
To soothe bodily impulses
Between the Here and the Now there is Pain
I kiss each Chain which grants me my Freedom
The memories of metal and tenderness of wood
Seep through skin, absorb through flesh
Bony structures suckle on surroundings
Becoming one with her Man-made Frame
Yearning to Become one with his Womyn-made Spirit
Dancing together alone as TWOMAN
We stand one man apart
The distance between which keeps us together
Knowable forces move our structures
Gravity caressing Anatomy
Unknowable forces brought us here
Unspeakable forces create new pathways
The circle is only an illusion of time
An elusive frame we aim to forget
Thank you for your performance last night.
I write to you now with time slowed
Pierced open between organisations
And sounds of moon fractals by Kris Vango
Between liking and loving which posts come to my eyes on Facebook and Instagram.
Between hunting for prey or perhaps a moments tenderness on Grindr.
Between rehearsals for TWOMAN with Takeshi Ohashi
And an unknown future full of infinite pathways
Here on Kottbusserdam
The spine of my Berlin.
People pass like blood vessels along my river’s edge
In my mind
In My Own Berghain
Everyone waits with suspended breath
To see which move I will next make.
They look to the heart for answers
For new directions in endless space and time lost.
I do not have answers, only questions
How many miles must we travel to sate our deepest hunger?
I do not have answers, only poems like
“Between the Here and the Now there is Pain
I kiss each chain which grants me my freedom.”
But even a poem cannot answer the unknowable.
As even a dance cannot express the unspeakable.
I am here
I cannot travel anywhere
Berlin must wait until I can breathe
Until I breathe it into being
And you my dear
May then rest your head on my lap and feel safe to receive my love.
My face vibrates warmly
This Berlin winter morning
It was nuzzled into my pillow
Imagining his foot
Holding his big toe again in my mouth
The day has just began
And gave me my first full orgasm with my self and it’s imagination
It passed through
Again this Saturday, we have plans to meet in flesh
But between plans and commitments lay so many present moments and sensations
The desire to connect this burning desire and my soul purpose, to dance, to refine all the layers of my communications
Which connect and separate my soul from the outside world
From an expanding community of friends and artists
And the misunderstandings on the way
Of who I thought you were
A shadow and comfort beside this body
“Between Skin and Skin, there is only Light” Murakami wrote
Linked to shadow and flesh
This day into Being
The Inner World of the Outer World of the Inner World
by Peter Handke
I wake up asleep:
I don't look at the objects, and the objects look at me;
I don't move, and the ground under my feet moves me;
I don't see myself in the mirror, and I in the mirror see myself;
I don't pronounce words, and words pronounce me;
I go to the window and I am opened.
I lie there upright:
I don't open my eyes, but my eyes open me;
I don't listen to sounds, but sounds listen to me;
I don't swallow water, but water swallows me;
I don't reach for objects, but objects reach for me;
I don't take off my clothes, but my clothes take me off;
I don't talk words into myself, but words talk me out of myself;
I go to the door, and the handle presses me down.
The shutters are rolled up and it becomes
Night, and to catch a breath of air I dive under water.
I step on the stone floor and sink in ankle-deep;
I sit on the box of the coach and put one foot before the other;
I see a woman with a parasol and break out in a cold sweat;
I raise my arm in the air and it catches fire;
I reach for an apple and I am bitten;
I walk on bare feet and feel a stone in my shoe;
I tear the bandaid from the wond and the cut is in the bandaid;
I buy a newspaper and I am scanned;
I fighten someone to death and am left aghast;
I stuff cotton in my ears and scream;
I hear sirens wailing and the Corpus Christi procession passes by;
I open the umbrella and the ground singes my feet;
I run into the open and am arrested.
It is over the floor that I trip,
and with a wide open mouth that I make conversations,
and with the palm of my hand that I scratch myself,
and with the police whistle that I laugh,
and out of the ends of my hair that I bleed,
and on opening the newspaper that I choke,
and caviar that I regurgitate,
and I tell about the future,
and I talk to things,
and it is through myself that I see,
and corpses that I kill.
And I see sparrows firing at cannons;
and I see catatonic in ecstasy;
and I see the newborn baby actually having wishes;
and I see the milkman at night.
and the letter carrier? asks for the mail;
and the preacher? rolls on the ground;
and the firing squad? lines up against the wall;
and the clown? flings a grenade among spectators;
and the murder? does not occur until the eyewitnesses appear.
And the mortician cheers his soccer team;
And the head of state attempts to assassinate the baker's apprentice;
And the feild marshal is named after a side street;
And nature is faithfully reproduced after a painting;
And the Pope is counted out standing up -
And listen! The watch ticks outside itself!
And look! The guttering candles are growing!
And listen! The scream is whispered!
And look! The wind petrifies the grass!
And listen! the folk song is bellowed!
And look! The raised arm points down!
And listen! The question mark is commanded!
And look! The starved man is fat!
And smell! The snow is rotting!
And it is morningfall,
and the table stands on one leg,
and the escapee assumes the lotus position,
and the trolley stops on the forty-ninth floor.
Listen! It is deathly quiet! - It is rush hour.
I fell asleep awake
and fled the unbearable dream for gentle reality
and am humming hue and cry to myself, merrily as they say -
listen to my mouth watering; I see a corpse!
Translated from German by M.Roloff
Theatre of Sleep by Guido Almansi & Claude Beguin
A poem for Japan
by David Milligan-Croft
The world cracked
And up you rose
From the Ring of Fire
On a day when the gods were too busy.
You rode ashore,
Like 40,000 apocalyptic horsemen,
Not pausing for houses, for cars,
For people, for breath.
Dragging their kicks and screams
Through concrete and timber and twisted steel,
Like cherry blossom twigs.
Until they were silent.
And the world was silent.
Then you slithered away
On the belly of the night,
Lapping the shore while
Licking your greedy fingers.
And after you are satiated,
And we have un-buried our dead,
We will climb up out of the mud,
And the sun will rise again.