“If Zouk was a word it would be WITH”


I went to Interfusion Festival.  A complete shift in the way I view dance ensued.  Please please, connect with me, go with me next year. It’s in Virginia.  I’m trying to get my thoughts together about the whole thing, so bear with me.

Here’s the thing.  Babies need physical touch.  They need to be cuddled and held or they grow up wrong.  Adult humans are not different.  We need healing touch.  We need to feel that safe touch, nothing to do with manipulation or with sex, we need that touch that doesn’t want, expect, or force. We need to feel safe, protected, and connected.  This is how we feel real.  This is how we feel seen and appreciated.

How does this relate to dance?

How is it to dance with someone, and your PRIMARY goal is that they feel and be safe and secure?

How is it when you really see into someone, accept the way they move without trying to force or change
(you know what I’m talking about.. “no no no, you did it wrong, this is how you do it!” *retries).  
To let go of our instinct to force someone in a certain direction, and just move with them, accepting the direction they choose to go in…
There are no mistakes in dance (barring that which puts people in danger of harm).  There’s no wrong way to connect to the music.
I swear to you, Zouk is going to change the world. I feel this. I’m here for this.
Get at me if you’re as ready for this as I am.
This song isn’t… SUPER representative.  But its a fun jam, and something I remember going hard on the dance floor to.


A bottle of wine
this is a gift with an obligation

you want to eat my brain with a spoon,
afternoon soup to evening

the stars are dim and blurry, entire
galaxies smudged

I told you I want to be sober next time we meet
the soul is so much sharper then (maybe you
didn’t want to be cut)

handle with caution.

I throw myself at this existence.  lemmeatim lemmeatim

Don’t mind me.

Real life when we talk.  A buffet of layers, I want to
look at each thin husk as it peels from your body, read the
secret meanings hidden there.

tell me, tell me, tell me..

the words that catch the tails of actions.

What are you here for?

How are you finding this universe?

This is what you do

This is what I wrote, sleep deprived and buzzing drunk on unexpected conversation like a flower opening in the dead of night.

Rebirth at Interfusion Festival.



Paradigm shift.  Pandora’s box… gah I thought I burned that thing but it’s back under the bed. Cardboard and mothballs, what’s in your attic?  There are deep inabilities, the things you ignore that learn to control you.  First instinct is to run and I think I took it too hard when you told me I need to learn how to live in the dust instead.  I don’t even own a mirror, you feel me?

Said I have a dark heart and I want to drown that out.  The heart and your voice about it (please tell me this is not who I am, too many people telling me what I want to hear- I got complacent, yeah you caught me)

Might be cleaning season.  We’ll see.

Z. L.

Zouk Love is Real Love.  Gonna miss you so much ❤  I’m the one dancing with her at the very beginning, before Ethan cuts in 😀


(Our interview is in two hours and I’m terrified, tryna take my mind off that)


Electric Guest + word vomit for your pleasure


Today’s post is brought to you by my brother.  Who always has the tunes.


I want to transcend this in a fevered dream.  I chase dancefloors because honestly, that’s an easy shortcut to human connection.  Putting in the dirty work feels like… too much like a 9-5 (but worth it, worth it, worth it, maybe?).  I run out of things to say, suspect you were bored, what do I have to do, throw confetti and do a quiet, intricate pantomime?  Shouldn’t feel like I have to entertain people.  Like I’m not living up to my reputation if I’m not keeping you in a constant state of laughter/dizzy/awestruck, etc.

It’s a relief when I unlock my door, step inside, pull myself in like I’ve escaped.  This apartment is the only place where the air in front of my face isn’t lava.  Being alone is so much easier.  Why do social situations make me feel as if I’ve FAILED.

oh god i hate the ending.

Never going to apologize for being honest, or for sharing how I feel.  I strive for truthfulness, on a molecular level, on a mystical level, to the 5th, 6th, and 7th dimension.  I was honest with my friend today which apparently made him feel bad.  Not sure why telling him something about MYSELF constitutes being a judgemental person, but after all.. I can rest easy.  I was genuine, fully.  Maybe moreso than usual.  Too many superficial friendships.  They’re kinda useless innit?


EDIT:  The above looks mad bitter.  We patched things up, talked things out… there were misunderstandings on both sides.  Friendships are difficult.  Worth it though.

About this poem… I HATE the ending.  That’s what I mean by not being fully honest.. when this poem still lived in my head it ended differently.  I’m searching for that ending because anything less is a dishonest reproduction.

is an

if I’m not
filling your plate,
what good are
these hands?

bed is just furniture.
dead trees or
metal jewelry- post crucible
remembered fire.

safety in oblivion.

I still lock my door
solo universe, me myself
and my gut bacteria



The chillest, the happiest. this song


April wind, relentless
thick soup of single-mindedness, exposing
vulnerabilities in the
deepest roots of

these walls:
they were useful once,
to be sure.

That was winter,
That was war.

Now they block out the sun
and rain,

(your flowers are sleeping,
prolonged hibernation.

dreaming of how the moon
pulls the oceans


Easy to become hopeless.  Like a tsumani of what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-what-can-I-do-…..


Nothing.  I can do nothing.  Waiting, I guess, which is a non-action.  Do I have faith in time?  Maybe not as much as I used to.

Just need to cancel the things I thought I could do, cancel the wedding, cancel everything I thought we could do together in the next few months.  Thought he’d be here now.  Stupid.  Over-eager, and stupidly optimistic.  When things fall through I get angry and lash out. He doesn’t deserve that.

Too much uncertainty like a weight.  Getting out of bed requires more strength than I have, a miracle I punch in to work at six AM everyday regardless.  I need him here.  I’m so. so. so sad.

I don’t want to move to India.  I don’t want to wait another year, another two years.  Feels like I’m beating my head against the wall, and his patience infuriates me.  How he’s not beating his head here with me, just all wait-and-see. And I CAN’T.


Indian Trap

Why I never learnt about consent:

alternatively titled, Fundamental Evangelicalism growing-up musings.


Before you’re married, you’re not allowed to have sex.

AFTER you’re married, your husband gets to tell you what to do.

Due to this, my “yes” never mattered.  Or lack of it.  The men I met in college.  Y’all were the real MVP.  Thanks for respecting my no.