Out the window Then she just started laughing and everything was better. To think that life will just go on and you are where you are and that i might as well enjoy the sweet, sweaty joys of today.
Distracted at times by the defaning siren that pulls my attention outside the window and down onto 6th ave, the class becomes as distant as my foggy memory of home. So defaning is the noise that i question whether or not the pianist is still playing because i dont believe i can hear anything anymore but a squel. Pianists amaze me. Set a tempo as the teacher does and,with the habituality of a breathe, a pattern of notes and
rythms, tunes and tempos come to their fingers as quick as a blink. The nod of the instructor and life is given to the moving bodies by music that fits each twist and turn to a tee. Never recognized and often ignored by the dancer, i do believe they deserve more applause than the athletes of my sport because without them,....what a question, there would not be dance.
Its as if to say you can have custard without using creme. Yes it can be done. One can dance alone without accomplinament and still serve a purpose, but like unwhipped cream, its flat. Hollow, unable to breathe, spoken without purpose. Maybe i will become a pianist so i can fill empty dances..or rather help empty dancers.....later   ¶ 5:42 PM