First there was void. Next there was starlight. Then there was dancing. Then there was you.
When you stole the starlight, you stole the spotlight. When you stole the spotlight, you stole my heart. When you stole my heart, everything stopped. Everything stopped, except the dancers.
Were the dancers always so focused? Energetic? Sharp, sluggish, whirly? Deliberate or explosive? You must involve yourself and be an active participant by silencing your candy wrappers and turning off all cell phones.
What can we learn about dance? What can we learn about performance? What can we learn about life? What can we learn about death? What can we learn about love? What can we learn about ourselves? Was the music too loud, too fast, too slow? Was there repeated movement? What was it? Was it something I said? Are we even still alive? Where are we?
There is this voice in my head. I wish it didn’t feel the need to shout. It seems it just really wants to shout, to know.
Were the dancers alone? Crying? Onions? Corners? Lines? Dancing? Were the dancers learning how to dance? Were the dancers learning how to be afraid? Did the dancers have a clear beginning, middle, and end? How did the dancers relate to each other?
Do some research. Were any of the dancers related to each other? Were the dancers related to the floor, the ceiling, to themselves? Did the dancers create any connections between the performance and what we already suspect that we know? What movements did we observe? Describe, don’t tell. Please. You must say something about the dancers, floating forever in the dark. Without good timing, some nights might never end.
Was the music also rhythmic? Post-lyrical? The blues? Did the costumes seem appropriate? Did the dancers dance, great pain? Grief? Sorrow? Regret? Disconsolation?
Were the dancers individuals? Did we choose to learn their names? Did we save them to our foreheads like two golems in our shoes? Can we learn to relate to letters? How did the dancers communicate with you?
Did you tell them your impressions? Were there sets? How did they fly? What bodies did the dancers? The costumes? And the crowd?
Were the dancers out in context? Were the dancers background news? Did the dancers make you happy, sad, disappointed? Why? Why not?
Some dancers say that someday we will be backed up with actual experiences, but what was the structure of the dance? How did the dancers move through space? Like, are we satellites? Lost? Hopeless? Time? Dancers? Are we dancers?
For, first there was the void, so expressive, flowing, exotic, passionate, agile, rhythmic, flawless, graceful, intricate, impromptu, classical, modern, elegant, expressive, polished, creative, only, does that really sound like a void? Not really, but next there was starlight, so expressive, flowing, exotic, passionate, agile, rhythmic, flawless, graceful, intricate, impromptu, classical, modern, elegant, expressive, polished, and creative.
And then there was dancing, so expressive, flowing, exotic, passionate, agile, rhythmic, flawless, graceful, intricate, impromptu, classical, modern, elegant, expressive, polished, and creative. Well done.
And then there was you, so expressive, flowing, exotic, passionate, agile, rhythmic, flawless, graceful, intricate, impromptu, classical, modern, elegant, expressive, polished, creative, but there will always be dancers. There will always be dancers and you.
Elan Radousky lives in California. When he isn’t reading, writing, eating, sleeping, or playing the xylophone, he can sometimes be found outside attempting to finally master five club juggling. He doesn’t actually play the xylophone, but he has on occasion dabbled at playing the xaphoon. His favorite color is blue, and he probably doesn’t know any secrets about you.
Eunoia Review 