Everything’s Breaking

IMG_6325IMG_6348 IMG_6309IMG_6458IMG_6477 10514563_10152736295928068_7282394221812963034_nIMG_6516

In the last years, my mental health was relying on an unfailing trinity of certitudes: my warrior identity, my queer identity, and the security of the corporate world. Over the course of a few weeks – between December 18th and January 12th to be precise – everything has been breaking.

I’m standing at a strange turn of my life. I’m feeling my old self stripping off my soul and I have trouble distinguishing what my new colours will be like. It is scary. I have no security of any kind beyond the integrity of my body and the money I get every 25th of the month. Both can stop any minute. Security doesn’t exist.

This morning I got in my office – the fantasized temple of my safety – and my manager since 2 weeks came to me and said that my desk was no longer my desk because a new starter was going to seat at my place. I’ve worked in this company for almost 3 years, and my contract stipulates that I’m a remote worker. I can therefore work from anywhere I want on this side of the planet. When I’m in the office – more often than not these days cause no one is waiting for me outside working hours – I’ve never really had an allocated spot. Even in the corporate, I am the gypsy of the gang, which I find hilarious. About 6 weeks ago, I finally got a place of my own and I started storing shit in my drawers, such as hand cream, tea bags and tooth brushes. It felt like I had an extension of my home in the centre of the city. This was temporary joy, since I got evicted this morning. I stored the shit in a plastic bag to clear the space for the new hire. I have to say that I felt a thrill along my spine emptying those premises, as if it was a rehearsal for when I leave for good.

Parallel to the work drama – I mean, there has been proper drama, personal attack and legitimate defence ; the drawer disappointment is anecdotic – my end of year boy fling continues playing with my head & body. I don’t recognise myself and most of me doesn’t like it (the remnant of me is overexcited).

Now. Another layer added to all that fun. Last week, someone told me something about myself and I don’t know whether it is fiction or reality. I’m not trying to be mysterious. I just don’t want to ramble about something that may or may not be. I have to hunt for the truth before divulging anything. Whatever the outcome, it fucked me up for the time being. I am writing this typically to get it out of my system. I’m looking back at the 3 decades of my life and I wonder if I was someone I didn’t suspect all that time. My first reaction at the news was to deny it. My second reaction was an urge for Krav Maga. Since then, I’ve been contemplating this possibility, and for all I know, it would explain why I see myself like a vampire and why I am intrinsically violent. I’ve been spaced out, my body intermittently freezes, I lose sense of space and emotion. I’ve been forcing myself to eat well and hug trees to balance things out. I’m looking forward to the future.

I hanged out at Starbucks for a long time after work today, I don’t know how long. I sat in the window to observe the ballet of people on the street. The darker it was getting outside, the more I was seeing my own reflection. I love the new lines at the corner of my eyes, because I carry evidence on my face that I start having a clue about life. Of course, I am scared of them too. How long before my marginality is no longer “sexy” or “fascinating”? How many years before I become at best invisible, and at worst, pathetic?

I didn’t let my mind go down that road of thought, though. Whatever happens, I’ll be inhabited with my vibrant joie de vivre which is stronger than anything. My nature grows back like weed over every shock and every punch.

When I finish this new mutation, everything will be even more awesome.

I left Starbucks and I went to buy a sweater on sale with Snoopy on it, and 2 jeans for £5 instead of £55.

At least my usual good star of fashion is shining. I wouldn’t trade that for the world.


Ultimate Stage : A Day in Toronto

IMG_2363 IMG_2371 IMG_2377 IMG_2380 IMG_2382 IMG_2385 IMG_2394 IMG_2397

Between New York and London, I had an anecdotic 20 hour wait at Toronto airport to connect flights. How thoughtful of Air Canada! I have friends in Toronto that I never see within their natural habitat. I was therefore all excited to arrange an impromptu rendez-vous with them.

After the usual airport and transit bullshit, I found myself hanging out somewhere in Toronto with a miserable 3 hours of sleep in the system. I don’t know this city very well, because I have mostly transited through it. I shamefully ended up at Starbucks just because of the wi-fi (OK, and maple coffee specials). My US phone doesn’t like Canada and I was a pain to reach.

While I was getting hold of ∆ε and με, I slept at the Starbucks counter like a homeless (again). I was checking every now and then if the baristas were giving the impression they were about to ask me to leave the premises, but they let me power nap in peace. Bless them. There was a guy seating next to me, teaching a drawing class to a girl. More exactly, a caricature drawing class. He was randomly showing her customers of the café and chop-chop-chop she was drawing them in a few lines. I was hoping she would caricature me in my sleep but it didn’t happen (I love getting that kind of attention). I guess I was seating too close. 

At 4pm, ∆ε and με picked me up. They were unexpectedly with πρ, whom I met in Paris with the guys a few years ago. ∆ε is turning 75 in September, and he is a living legend and a key figure of modern dance in Canada. He and πρ used to dance in the Martha Graham Company in New York City so they have the hell of anecdotes about the Great Priestess of modern dance. When they tell about their life, it is a mix between a university lecture of history of dance and gossip magazines, because they have some unofficial stories about a few legends of the 20th Century. 

ε and πρ founded together with a third person the Toronto Dance Theatre in 1968, implementing the technique and influence of Martha Graham in Canada.  I met ∆ε in 2003 when I was a dance student in Québec City. He was teaching for 2 weeks and he connected me to my dance heavenly vault. I can’t think of a better image. I remember that the walls of the studio seemed to be pushed back, the ceiling felt higher and this whole worship and spiritual dimension kicked in. ∆ε can teach a whole class without barely speaking. Graham technique is like a secret language and its disciples belong to a secret society. But when he speaks, YOU LISTEN, because every single information is a goldmine, and possibly a big clue to your journey towards dance truth. 

I attended 2 summer schools with his dance company in Guelph, a little town near the big one. We’ve been friends ever since. He is a devoted francophile who often teaches me one or two things about my own country. We catch up on either side of the ocean, mine or theirs. Both sides are actually ours as we don’t necessarily feel home where we were born, and our meetings are always short, wonderful and unexpected. I had last seen them in east London less than a year ago, in ∆ε’s first love’s house which is a veritable 4-floor art gallery opposite to the house of Gilbert & George.

ε is in a cult couple with με, one of his dancers, 30 years younger than him. I love them together. They are one of these creative collaborating couples that I aim to be in some day. They don’t have time for bullshitting each other like most couples do because they’ve always channeled their energy in a creative way. 

This time, ε and πρ started talking about a performance they did at the Espace Pierre Cardin in Paris years ago. They mentioned that they were in Paris in May 68 so they witnessed the historical mess, but I am not sure if the Pierre Cardin story was that year or later on. πρ said that Pierre Cardin was a “total jerk” (sic) who loved himself way too much and was unable to pour his own drinks without a handful of domestics serving him. One day after rehearsal, Pierre Cardin gave them a tour of his office. He was like: “What do you think? I designed everything myself.” πρ was laughing to tears when he explained that his desk was designed in a handbag shape and that Pierre Cardin was obviously proud of it. Pierre Cardin later told them that he really liked their dance show because “he was ahead of himself” and was therefore entitled to understand the subtility of dance avant-garde. Then, ∆ε and πρ told a trip they did through Italy, where they stayed at a lovely hotel, thinking people were very weird until they found out it wasn’t a hotel but a sanatorium. 

Every time I catch up with my living legends, I get a handful of excellent stories which make me see art history, or life in general, under a different light and we have so much laughter. I am not missing a word when I spend time with them, it always makes me see things in a more laid-back, inspiring and reassuring light.

In the meantime, my amazing friend Ν had joined us. She is a beautiful mixed-race dancer with more hair than me, which is quite an achievement. She dances with the Toronto Dance Theatre. She actually is a natural version of a drag-queen (way more than I can ever claim to be), cause she’s tall, muscular and has exaggerated hair and outfits. I met her at the summer dance intensive with ∆ε’s company in 2009. We shared the same house and we remained friends ever since. She is positive, loud and retro. I’ve never seen her down. I love her. 

I stayed over at her French-decorated flat for the night. Her cute flatmate was there, an adorable 23 year old gay dancer from Québec City (we studied at the same school). He picked some spoons out of the freezer and put them on his eyes to decongest them. Interesting image. I love to steal gay boys their beauty tricks. He was on his way out to a famous drag queen contest. Oh no! It sounded like a call from destiny. I would have totally gone with him and been crazy till dawn if it wasn’t for a silly plane taking me back to an overseas life I don’t want a few hours later. And actually, for the first time in weeks, I was excited to go to bed. Sigh. I observed him for a moment. He was exactly what I want to be in my next life. I want to be a young beautiful gay male dancer with insolent beauty and fuck everyone without constraint. This is totally what I was programmed to be, but then the gender thing went wrong. Dammit. I envy gay boys for the sexual freedom they grant to themselves. I do that too, but as a girl, I find more obstacles on my way. It is still more difficult for girls to have unconventional and free sex lives, because many girls are their worst enemy. I find that a lot of them are scared, judge themselves or think too hard.

It was the first time in ages that I felt disappointed to be me and not something completely opposite, because New York had a soothing effect on me : I was the right thing at the right place at the right time. I stepped out of my City and in less than a day I was caught back by my companion fantasies of who else I want to be.

I stayed in with Ν and we watched ‘Flash Dance’ eating blueberry pie, which was wonderful too. How could I spend so long without watching Flash Dance? I vow to have a refresher every year. 

At 5am, a cab picked me up to my final destination. I was so dead from 7 weeks of intense life embracing that I fell asleep on the plane instantly and didn’t even feel the take off.

Thus finished my Spring 2014 North American Tour.

As soon as I got in London, a Brooklyn sign hit my eye on the underground.